In the Worst of Times
by TempeJill
Summary: It has been seven years since Brennan found a way to move on, and Booth found out he could not. Seven years, and yet some things never change. When the worst happens, though, things may have a way of falling back into place once and for all.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Well, here is yet another story. I know I have several others in the works, but I write what the muse gives me, and this is currently what it is. I'm hoping that you will all be as intrigued as my unofficial betas, Cassie and Lexi, are by this premise. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer- I don't own _Bones_ or any of the characters. I just like to torment them and send them into angst-ridden situations for my own enjoyment and yours. **

**(Don't worry, though, I love happy endings just like everyone else. So don't freak out too much. Also, please take note of the date- it is indeed the year 2018, and that is not a typo.)  
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**In the Worst of Times**

_Prologue_

_ Her hand reached up and slapped the solid surface above her, the contact sending tendrils of fear straight through her veins, shocking her heart with the cold embrace of ultimate terror. Slowly, memories drifted back into her consciousness, her injuries slowly making themselves known. Her body ached, but she found that she couldn't move, and at that thought, the claustrophobia she'd been expecting started to take control._

_ For the first time since this ordeal had started, she began to wonder if it was possible that she wasn't getting out of here at all. If this was how she was going to die, finally, after everything she'd already been through. _

_ Who was looking for her? Who would know where to find her? _

_ No one was coming. And if they were... they weren't coming in time. _

_ It was finally over. _

_ Trembling in her grave, she closed her eyes and tried to make it all go away. _

_Two months earlier_

_May 24__th__, 2018_

The light was fading, over the small diner where there sat a lonely woman. She had straggly blonde hair that had once been brown and still showed the faintest traces of it, close to the roots. She thought it added character, where her girlfriends thought it only added challenges to her social life. Mainly, dating.

But she didn't have any problems in that department. Hadn't for a while. Which was why she was here, now, sitting where she was… and wondering.

Her choices in the past had never been very significant. She had graduated high school as expected, had gone to the family college as expected, and had earned the grades that had been expected. She had graduated on time, and had found a job at the very office where she had earned an internship during her earlier years in the business field.

Nothing big, just a secretary. Not quite what her father had envisioned for her, or what her mother had been preaching about every Christmas, birthday, and Valentine's Day (the latter being more so because of her failures to bring a date home to meet them than because of anything else).

But her dreams did go farther than this. She didn't plan to sit behind the front desk for the rest of her life, and just usher people in to meet the men in charge. She wanted to be one of those people in suits with a desk that had her name in a shiny gold plaque sitting on the edge. She would rearrange her pencils in their mug as she looked down at her failing employee and asked him if he knew why he was there, not unlike a principal disciplining an unsurprisingly misbehaved child. With slender fingers and gorgeously manicured nails, she would reach out and straiten the name plate just because she could, and she would fire anyone who messed with the settings on her chair. Which would have a massager built in. God, did she ever need a massage.

Life wasn't exactly stress-free. Sure, a job to pay the bills, no family to look after, only a moderate number of bills coming in, and frozen pizza waiting in her freezer for supper that night. But that was just one small fraction.

Sometimes, things were so much more complicated than they looked on the surface. Sitting here, a piece of almost untouched pie sitting in front of her with the vanilla ice cream slowly, rhythmically melting onto the plate in steady droplets, she could see it all falling away.

Why had she gotten herself messed up in this?

Hadn't instinct always told her to avoid trouble? Hadn't her childhood, her upbringing, the firm and occasionally misplaced guidance of her parents, taught her anything about the world? She should have seen this coming. Ages ago. Should have known that it was stupid to think so little of the future and get so caught up in the moment.

Well, not that the moment was well and caught up to _her_ she wasn't sure which way the tables were turning. And she was starting to feel rather dizzy, to be honest. The persistent nausea that had been bothering her for weeks was only increasing every time the waitress came around to offer her a refill on her coffee, eyeing the pie plate as if she would really like her to leave, even though the little diner was by no means busy.

If anything, the waitress probably wanted her gone so she could clean up and be all the more ready to leave. The reddish tint of the sunset over the skyline was yet another reminder of the hour. She shouldn't stay here much longer.

After all, she'd already seen the person she'd came for. Had already chickened out and stayed where she was, watching the interactions of the people around her and looking away whenever the stare she was sending brought up a set of eyes to seek out the source of the rising hair on the back of their neck.

But she was apparently inconspicuous enough that she didn't earn more than a fleeting glance.

The guilt of it was almost overwhelming. To be so close, to have the truth weighing in her heart, but be unable to set it free for fear of bringing down the very gates of heaven and hell upon herself. She had no idea which side she was even fighting for anymore… was this a good choice, or a terrible, ruinous one?

And truly, what was her motivation? None of this could end well, but what right did she, of all people, have to be the one to choose when and how it came about?

_You're just a secretary_, she reminded herself, taking a few calming breaths. Besides, her target was gone now. There was little she could do about that, and she had no idea where to even look for their place of residence. It had never occurred to her to do any more research once she realized that this was the place to go if she wished to make contact.

At the same time as her doubts had flooded her, so had her memories. She'd been in a position like this once before, when staying silent had ended disastrously. But she knew well enough to know that either way could end the same, having seen enough movies in her time.

But it had been more than one too many visits to the cinema which had prompted her silence. It was fear of judgment, of ridicule, of everything and anything in between. What would the look on their face be, if she simply walked up and spoke the truth? What would they think of her? And what of her parents, her friends, her coworkers?

She shivered at the very idea. She was in too deep. She knew too much for sharing to be a good idea. Sharing could get you killed, couldn't it? Couldn't it?

And who would help her? No one else knew the horrible secret she was keeping locked inside of her. That was why it was just that… a secret. And a well-kept one, at that.

She'd always been good at keeping to herself, after all. The most trustworthy friend you could have, she recalled her college roommate saying once. She had loved the idea, at the time. Found it surprising that some people simply couldn't keep even the smallest of things locked inside when she seemed to have plenty of room to store it all away in to avoid, to refuse to let loose.

What a terrible weapon she could be turned into.

Glancing up as the waitress approached again, she slid the pie away from her and politely asked for the check. A relieved smile washing over the younger woman's face, the waitress nodded eagerly, collected the dish, and shuffled away.

She dug into her wallet, pulling out a twenty. It would cover the pie, the coffee, and a lot more. Glancing around, she made up her mind and tucked the bill under the salt shaker before standing and pulling her purse over her shoulder. The whole time sitting there, and she hadn't even taken off her light coat. It was stiff now, under the arms, and as she stepped out onto the sidewalk and breathed out into the fresh night air, she swung her arms to loosen up the fabric, glancing up at the stars as she absently shoved her hands into her pockets.

There was always tomorrow. Sure, she could truly do this anytime she wished… but sooner was probably for the better, if she truly intended to go through with it at all. She couldn't keep this secret… for the first time in her life, she needed to speak.

No matter what the consequences.

It was just a matter of working up the courage, finding the right words, and diving in headlong before she could talk herself out of it.

She took a cab back to her apartment building, tipping him highly as well because her guilty conscious needed _some_ sort of good-deed-doing outlet for her frustrations. Sighing, she mounted the stairs, and once inside waited for the rickety elevator to find its way back to the lobby. It was always a slow ride, no matter which way you were going. But it had only stuck on her once, and she was, thankfully, not a claustrophobic person. She would think that, with the high-class neighborhood she lived in, the building managers would have gotten it fixed long ago. It didn't even go down to the basement anymore; god knew what was down there after all these years. She had given up sending in complain letters after it became obvious nothing was going to change. She had just gotten used to it.

So, it was without trepidation, but not without the heaviness of her conscience, that she stepped in once the doors rattled open.

By the time they opened again, on the fifth floor, her guilt, her fears... all of it was gone.

And her blood was slowly dripping onto the carpeting as the soft elevator music skipped and hummed overhead.

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**It's short, I know. But it is necessary, and the next chapter is really quite long to make up for it. Feedback is loved, and let's me know that people are actually interested. In other words, it will make me want to update. Hint, hint. :D**


	2. Every Ship Must Sail Away

**A/N: IMPORTANT! Do you remember last chapter, when I said that 2021 was the year, and it wasn't a typo? I lied. It was a typo... the year is really 2018. I fixed it in the last chapter, and it won't happen again. Sorry about that... **

**This chapter is considerably longer than the prologue, and this can be around the expected length for the rest of the chapters as well :)  
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_Chapter 1: Every Ship Must Sail Away_

_Have you ever heard the sounds, in the shadows of a song?_  
_ Have you ever felt the words blow right through from beyond?_  
_ Years pass and people change, the bluest skies could turn to grey_  
_ Though its gonna hurt for now every ship must sail away_  
_ Every ship must sail away_

_May 25th, 2018_

Special Agent Seeley Booth awoke in the early hours of the morning, glancing at his alarm clock to see that, as was per the norm in the past week, it hadn't gone off. His internal clock had earned the unfortunate habit of waking him up, thanks to not one, not two, but _three_ days of arriving late at the office without his morning coffee. It didn't put him in the most pleasant of moods.

And so it was approximately six o'clock when his eyes snapped open and focused blearily on the digital display. Groaning, he pushed himself up and tossed the blankets off onto the other side of his very empty bed. He and Rebecca had been on and off for the past six years, and now just happened to be a very abrupt, although not entirely unwelcome, _off_ time. Which meant he had himself to look after, and no one telling him to pick up his clothing from the day before off of the floor, where he had tossed it on top of the rest of his clothing from the week. A growing stack that did nothing to ease his mind as he realized he'd have to do a laundry run.

"Parker!" he called as he pulled a pair of socks out of his drawer, tossing them back in as he dug for a black pair. He really _did_ need to do some laundry.

"I'm up," his son called lazily from a direction that sounded like the kitchen. "Do you want me to leave out the cereal?" he added, probably as an afterthought.

"No," he answered, shaking his head to himself as he tossed his clothing through the doorway of his bathroom, letting it land in a heap on the tile floor. He couldn't bring himself to care, though. "Do you want a ride in?"

"Dad, I think I'm capable of getting myself to school," came the patient but slightly frustrated answer. It was just another healthy reminder that his son was grown up, something he still had trouble adjusting to, even after living with him through the rather trying period known as the 'teenage years.' Scary didn't begin to describe the experience, and he was almost grateful that he only had the one kid.

Parker just happened to be the ripe age of eighteen at the moment, and in his first year of college. After all the time at the lab as a child, and all the science kits and good grades, he'd been very much expecting his son to become some sort of squint. In the end, though, Parker had surprised him when he suddenly announced that he had other plans.

Plans that involved law enforcement, and ones that had led to a great deal of friction between the two of them. While the idea had at one point seemed unpleasant, Parker becoming a squint had been something he'd been almost sure of, as well as something he could have lived with. With the exception of one specific anthropologist, most lab jobs were undeniably safe and secure. Especially if he wasn't working in conjunction with the FBI, which Booth had also been hoping for.

Instead, though, Parker had gained an interest in _criminal psychology_, insisting that he wanted to not only be a profiler, but an agent as well. No office work for him. No lab time. Heck, he wasn't even going to settle for the half-role that Sweets lived out. He was having a hard time getting over it, and his son hadn't even learned to fire a gun yet.

That was something else he _really_ didn't want to think about.

And yet, Parker had thoroughly ignored all of his arguments against going into such a dangerous field, cutting him to the quick more than once about how dangerous his own life was, and how he had nearly died and left his son fatherless on a number of occasions. It wasn't like he could hold a logical argument, either, because not only was Parker correct, but he _knew_ it. And he knew that Booth knew it, too.

Rebecca had, infuriatingly, taken their son's side in the argument, stating over and over again that it was something he was passionate about, and something he had every right to pursue. Under the fiery exterior, though, he could see that she was just as worried as him. Only she was playing the good guy, and leaving him in the role of the villain. Clearly, she had figured out that nothing was going to change Parker's mind and had just chosen to ride it out on the safer waves, tossing Booth to the sharks in the process.

They'd been in an_ off_ time then, as well, he recalled grudgingly.

Now, he had mostly adjusted to the idea. Enough so to realize that he might as well help his son, if he was truly so serious about pursuing this particular career path. He'd gotten him back in his good graces by calling in a few favors and earning him the opportunity to speak with several profilers from a unit over at Quantico. While a small part of him had been hoping that the talk would change Parker's mind, it had only seemed to reinforce his interest in the subject, and after that... Booth had been forced to accept that it wasn't going to change.

They'd gotten through the college application process together, digging through scholarships and financial aid options frantically when Parker got accepted to the school at the top of his list... which was unfortunately rather pricey, to say the very least.

It would have evolved into a large issue had his partner not done something about it. He still didn't know what to say to her about that completely unfazed way she had mentioned that she had started a trust fund for Parker's college years ago. As if it was no big deal. As if she hadn't done more than her partner-like duties.

She was his very married, very happy, very moved-on-and-now-unavailable partner. Who he still worked with on a day-to-day basis.

That was something else he couldn't get used to.

He sighed at the thought as he climbed back out of the shower, tousling the towel through his hair and yanking on his now wrinkled suit from its crumpled position on the floor. By the time he made his way to the kitchen, Parker was gone. _Be back early. Study group canceled,_ the note he found stuck to the fridge read. He nodded to himself and took a swig from the orange juice carton, contemplating whether or not to make a coffee run or settle for the crap they kept in the break room for the fourth time that week just as his phone buzzed. He picked it up off the counter and glanced at the caller ID before answering.

Work, as usual.

"Booth."

"Hey, we've got a doozy of a case for you," answered the familiar voice of Charlie, who had since been promoted to desk duty a few levels up. He now had the pleasant responsibility of doling out cases, which meant that at least Booth had some minor influence over which crappy cases he got dumped with. From the tone of the other agent's voice, though, it sounded like this one might be of actual interest, unlike what he'd been slogging through for the past two months. And from the background noise, it sounded like he was actually on a scene himself.

"Fill me in," he answered simply as he slid the carton back into the fridge and made a bee-line for his front door.

"Fire alarms went off at a building on the East side at around midnight last night. The whole fire department was gathered out front, building all evacuated. Elevator stuck shut with smoke pouring through the cracks."

"Well that's a new one," he said with a raised eyebrow as he stepped out into the cool morning air, tossing his keys up and down in his free hand.

"Certainly is," Charlie answered, "I've seen plenty of elevator shaft murders, and more than my fair share of body dumps, but never this."

"So there was a body in the elevator?" he asked, his suspicions confirmed. He was already out on the road before Charlie answered.

"Yep. Burned to a crisp. Very well-done, you could say. Took a hell of a long time to get that door open, though, apparently. They just cracked it a few hours ago, and then they had to clear the building to make sure it was safe, have a crew check out the mechanics of the elevator..."

"The usual," Booth filled in.

"The usual," Charlie echoed. "They're holding down the fort right now... the building's still mostly sealed off, and we've got a few agents chasing down some of the apartment dwellers that weren't in, but we don't have an ID yet."

"And so you need my help."

"We need your lady scientist, actually," he answered. "Pick her up and get here as quick as you can. They're waiting on her before they go anywhere near that body, and the press is already having a field day, what with the whole circus of police and fire crew out in the street. Traffic ought to be a bitch."

He groaned. "Of course it will. Send the address to my GPS, will you?"

"Done and done, Booth. You underestimate me."

"Thanks, Charlie," he answered, snapping the phone shut and turning sharply as he took a back route to the lab. From the knot of traffic he saw a few miles up the stretch, he assumed that the damage from that morning was far from being corrected. He also had a good guess of what direction to start off in, without even checking the GPS, once he picked up his partner.

For a moment, as he was nearing the Jeffersonian, he considered calling her and telling her he was on his way in. But then he changed his mind, and decided that he'd take a moment to brief the rest of the team upon his arrival, so calling would be a moot point. Besides, he trusted what Charlie had told him. They would wait for him to arrive, and then they would follow Brennan's lead on handling the body. No doubt it would be packed up and sent straight to the Jeffersonian anyways.

He pulled into the structure, and scanned through the information Charlie had sent to him. Finally satisfied, he climbed out of the vehicle and flashed his ID to the security guard quickly before stepping through the sliding glass doors. The familiar _whoosh_ was one thing that hadn't changed. A good portion of the rest had, however. The platform had transformed in the past seven years, morphing from the once shiny and well-lit environment to an even more secure set of stations. The barriers around it were now steel with glass plates, and the readers had been designed to scan faces as well as check for the ID badge; all without having to pause or scan the card.

He bounded up the stairs, scanning the area briefly but finding only typical squints; none of his team. While years ago it had seemed like they mostly had the place to themselves, the lab had since expanded, taking in more interns in different branches and spreading out. One specific corner of the platform belonged exclusively to Hodgins, and the rest of their section was built of examination tables and equipment. At Brennan's behest, the designers of the renovation had separated their section with its own recess of walls and a separate scanner. It was complex, and somewhat obnoxious, but he had to appreciate that it was probably the safest place in the city outside of the actual FBI building. No one was getting in here without authorization.

Brennan, Hodgins, and Cam all had their own offices still, and Hodgins had even been offered one of his own. After barely any consideration, though, the bug-man had turned it down. He didn't seem to find it necessary, and he was quite comfortable in his little section of the platform, surrounded by his big machines. Half of which Booth still didn't know the function of, and didn't much care to, either.

For the most part, the structure of the actual offices had remained untouched. Brennan had gotten new curtains installed, which meant she could more easily block off her glass office, and Angela had taken the opportunity to control decorating, but beyond that... it was much the same. At the moment, however, the curtains were bunched at the corners and the room was dark. He stepped down the other side of the platform and moved alone the side of it, heading towards Angela's office, which was the only one with light streaming from the doorway. It was assumable that the team had gathered there, seeing as they didn't seem to be anywhere else. Although he didn't doubt that Brennan could very well be down in Limbo, digging through boxes of bones like she was prone to do lately. They'd barely had any cases in the past month, and even when they did... well, it wasn't as if he saw her much anyways.

Seven years ago, Brennan had met a man named James Turner when she and Booth had investigated the murder of a young business woman. They had interviewed him as the head of the rival business, as a possible suspect. He had been cleared quickly, but it hadn't changed the fact that she and James had had an almost instant rapport with one another.

Booth still cringingly remembered how he had asked for her phone number, and how she had smiled in a curious, adorable sort of way that had immediately made him feel like he'd taken a kick to the gut. After that, he'd heard all about her dinner date, and how _wonderfully_ it had gone, and how he was 'very flexible.'

Good God.

Angela had drank it all up, of course — congratulated her friend on meeting someone new, and done everything possible to help. Countless times, he had seen the two of them chatting animatedly up in the lounge, Brennan's eyes bright and excited and Angela clearly enthusiastic.

He hadn't had much of a right to complain, though. At the time, he had been dating Hannah. He had been in love with Hannah. He had been _happy_. The thought was almost snidely sarcastic, even as he was thinking it to just himself, and he resisted the urge to curl his hands into fists. He didn't need the temptation to punch a wall.

Things with Hannah had not ended in an amicable, pleasant sort of way. They hadn't even ended with tears, or a fight, or anything of the sort.

They had ended, rather, with her informing him very curtly that she couldn't stand him anymore, and that she was heading back to Afghanistan for her work. It had been implied that she didn't want to see or hear from him ever again.

In part, he had probably deserved it. But it had still hurt like hell, and nothing could have changed that. Maybe it had been watching Brennan be with another guy, but something inside of him had lost the fire he had felt about his relationship with Hannah. It had begun to unravel at that point, and it was when Brennan announced the engagement that Hannah ended things permanently.

True to her final words, they had not spoken since. He doubted she would ever return to DC except for work-related purposes.

Probably more painful than the breakup itself, though, had been the fact that Brennan had witnessed everything that had gone on. Her being friends with Hannah, and being in a committed relationship outside of the Jeffersonian had provided her the ultimate view of the whole thing; hearing everything first-hand from Hannah and seeing the effects of it for herself in the workplace.

Everything in him had screamed that he should talk her out of marrying James. He had almost done it several dozen times, dialing six numbers before hanging up or starting a conversation and then chickening out at the last second and bringing up some aspect of the case they were working on as an excuse.

It wasn't just that their relationships with other people had changed, though. It was that they weren't the same people anymore. He had realized a great number of things when Hannah had dumped him to the curb and taken the first flight out of dodge, and not all of them had been about his relationship with her.

A good portion of them had been about Brennan, to be honest. About how he had been wrong, all that time ago, and how he should have dived at the opportunity to have something more with her, to hell with Hannah. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, as it had always been. Nothing had been that clear seven years ago... he hadn't seen the thousand and one flaws with his relationship, and he hadn't noticed that he and Hannah barely had anything in common more than their attraction and their involvement in things of criminal, political, and war-related nature. By the time that had occurred to him, though, Brennan had been in the middle of dating James.

And Jesus, she was actually _happy_. She had found a way to move on just like he had thought _he_ had. Except, it was clear to him that she was going to succeed where he had not. Especially after the year came to a close and she came into work self-consciously wearing a large diamond on her finger.

Angela had already known, from the way she had insisted on being shown the ring and had been all-knowing when her friend had walked in the doors. Cam and Hodgins had even been more in the loop than he had. Hell, _Zach_ had known more than him, and the kid had barely been released from the asylum at the time.

So he had been the only one taken by complete surprise when he had joined the little gathering and realized what was going on. He was never going to forget the way she had looked at him as he stepped past Hodgins to stand directly in front of her, staring at the ring with huge eyes. The way her gaze had flickered with doubt and insecurity, and the way she had almost seemed afraid of how he was going to react. Like she knew that he would be upset, and despite everything else, despite all the time he had spent moving on from _her_... she still didn't want to do anything to hurt him. Even though she was happy. Even though he had held little regard to her feelings during his time with Hannah.

He was such an _idiot_.

And now she belonged to some other guy, who he _still _wasn't sure he approved of entirely.

Jameson Turner was a co-owner of an expanding manufacturing company. Brennan had explained the details to him on more than one occasion, but honestly, he hadn't been paying attention. He didn't care much about how amazing James was. Didn't want to hear anything about it, actually. He'd gotten quite tired of it over the past seven years.

But no matter how good the guy looked on paper, it never swayed Booth's all-encompassing thought... that he could have made her happier than anyone else. Than James.

He remembered the wedding clearly, as if it had been just a few weeks since the day, rather than just short of six years. It had been the day he had lost her for good, after all... and he wasn't ever going to be able to forget that, no matter what happened.

_"Sweetie, you look beautiful," he could hear Angela saying, nothing but pure joy in her tone. _

_They were a few yards behind him, where he was standing with Sweets and Daisy, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around and look at her. She _was_ gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous, actually. She was downright stunning, in her long white dress with a sequence beaded design embroidered across the top — something Angela had designed specially. It hugged all the right curves in ways he knew he had no right to think about, and her veil was hanging beautifully over those auburn locks, curled to frame her face. _

_Less than an hour prior, he had watched her walk up that aisle in that dress. Had watched Max lead her to James' side and step away. Had watched the whole procession, with Angela and Cam and Daisy standing on one side with their matching blue bridesmaid gowns, and James' friend… what was his name? Kevin; one of the company lawyers who was apparently his lifelong friend as well — and he didn't like that guy any more than he liked James himself. _

_Finally, though, he had watched the priest marry his beloved partner to this man he barely knew, and he had watched them kiss while the crowd cheered. _

_And now… now he was here, watching the rest of the event unfold. James and Brennan had danced to start it off, as was tradition, and after that he hadn't seen much of her. He had caught a glimpse a while ago, of her dancing with her father, but now was the first time he had heard her voice since the ceremony. _

_His uncontrolled side wanted to spin around, grab her, and run. _

_His other side wanted to get the hell out of their on his own, so he could stop torturing himself. _

_But yet, he had found a balance he still wasn't happy with. Which involved sticking around because she needed him, whether she was saying it or not. He had been doubting it for a long time, and had been wondering about whether he was masochistic enough to actually attend the wedding after Hannah left him in those weeks leading up to the ceremony… when Angela had shown up at his apartment. _

_She had talked him into going, having apparently found out that Brennan was worried he wasn't planning on it. She had told him, _reassured_ him, that Brennan needed him. That she was distraught at the idea of him no coming, but wasn't brave enough to ask him to go herself, because she didn't want to hurt him._

_"If it's the last thing you do for her, Booth, please come to the wedding," Angela had pled. _

_He'd never been able to refuse Brennan. Not when he knew it was something she needed._

_So, regardless of his feelings about watching her move on with her life with someone else… he had resigned himself to the truth. This was how things were going to go. It was mostly his fault for not trying harder, and if she was happy… well, wasn't that what he had always wanted? So, he was going to give up his happiness now, for her. So she could live the life she wanted to live, without him standing in her way. She deserved that from him, at the very least._

_With that in mind, he hadn't been expecting it when someone suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, and realized that Sweets was now a few more feet away, engaged in conversation with Hodgins, and Daisy was nowhere to be seen. As he turned, he realized that it was Max who now stood beside him, looking at him in a curious sort of way that made him uncomfortable. Like he was trying to decide what sort of accelerant to use. _

_But then the moment passed, and the older man said calmly, "To be honest, I didn't see this coming, Booth."_

_"Neither did I," he answered under his breath, more to himself than the other man._

_"You know, she still loves you," Max commented, as though he hadn't heard — or had chosen not to acknowledge — what Booth had just said. He closed his eyes and prepared himself to tell Brennan's father not to go down that road, but before he could, Max was already pushing forward. "I can see it in her eyes, when she looks at you. Like she just was, two seconds ago."_

_On reflex, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Brennan's head turn away. She was dancing with her brother, now, he noted with relief. He didn't enjoy seeing her with her new 'husband.'_

_His eyes flashed back to Max, his mouth open with a ready retort, but he got cut off once again._

_"She still has feelings for you, regardless of… James."_

_If there was someone else who cared as little for the groom, it was certainly Brennan's father. But yet, he had approved of the wedding. Something told Booth that he was going to be keeping a close eye on the guy, though. Very close. He would not want to be James if he did anything that Max considered wrong as far as his daughter went. Hell, the guy would have both of them after him if Max cared to share whatever it was he found out about. And Booth would be glad to lose his job if it meant protecting her, or at least aiding Max in doing so._

_But as far as her safety went, Booth had run enough background checks to be certain she would be unharmed in this marriage. That didn't mean he wouldn't be keeping an eye out as well, though. He would do everything short of following her home every day if he found it necessary, and God help him, he wouldn't regret it in the slightest._

_Even if she killed him for it._

_"I don't know what you're trying to do here, Max, but if you're trying to make me feel better… it's not working."_

_"Sorry, Booth, just trying to make sure that you understand. Tempe… has never been very successful in love. And to be honest, I thought you were going to be the end of that. I'm not even going to pretend to know why it isn't you over there in the fancy penguin suit, but seeing as it isn't… I'm just going to say that I'm not stupid enough to think you don't still love her."_

_"Max," he said, a warning note in his tone. _

_The older man held up a finger to stop him. "I'm serious, Booth. So I'll say this right now… I expect you to still be around for when she needs you."_

_Only Max could get away with such an ironic demand in such a threatening fashion, and not earn a suitable answer. From anyone else, such a hypocritical statement would earn an equally threatening response, if not a punch in the face. As it was, he wasn't planning on going anywhere, regardless of what Max told him. And so he simply nodded and turned to look over his shoulder again, cutting his eyes across the crowd until he found her again, standing to the side of the dance floor holding a glass of champagne and staring in what was clearly the opposite direction. It didn't take a genius to figure out where she had been looking only a moment before. _

_For a second, he almost dared to believe what Max had just told him. Maybe things weren't as finished with him as he thought they were. She was married, but that didn't mean he couldn't still be in her life. He'd been in her life for the past seven years, after all, without any actual romance being involved. That part wasn't going to change… well, any more than it already had managed to since she had gone to Maluku and he had gone back to Afghanistan. _

_When he turned back to Max, the other man was gone. He looked around in confusion for a moment, but Max wasn't anywhere to be seen. Sighing and giving a short bark of laughter, knowing that he should have expected no different, he turned once more to face where Brennan was standing… only to find that she was gone from her spot as well. _

_Only, she was coming towards him, now._

_She stopped a few feet in front of him, biting her lip nervously. She looked amazing, and he couldn't resist running his eyes down her slender frame in that lovely white dress. He had always imagined what it would be like to see her in a wedding gown… only he'd always included himself as the one she was marrying. Never had he thought that something like this would happen. Brennan had always been adamant about hating the idea of marriage. So he had assumed, deep down, that one day he would be the one to convince her otherwise, and they would share a long and happy life together._

_Somewhere along the line, that had gotten skewed. His emotions and his intentions had gotten mixed up, and this was where they had dumped him. _

_A new song started, and she glanced back over her gloriously pristine shoulders at the band before turning once more to him, looking up at him through her long, dark lashes in an adorably insecure way. He wanted to hug her for it, even after all she was putting him through right now._

_While recently he'd lost touch with his old Brennan-radar, it didn't mean he couldn't still read her. And right now, he knew exactly what she was thinking. An easy, somewhat amused smile slid across his features. He barely dared to say it, but the question was already rolling off his tongue. "Bones, would you like to dance?"_

_Her lip, still pressured by the tips of her top teeth, curved up at the edge and she blinked a few times before nodding smoothly. "I would. Very much," she answered._

_His fingers just beginning to tremble, he held his arm out to her, and waited until she hooked hers through it before he led her out onto the dance floor. Since the reception had started, he hadn't danced with anyone. Ange had offered, but had been understanding when he had just shook his head. After that, Cam had come by, but thankfully only to talk. He'd known that the thought to offer was on her mind, but she'd judged that he wasn't in the mood, and hadn't posed the question. Now he was even more grateful… it made Brennan's silent request mean that much more to him._

_As they stepped into the middle of the floor, he didn't care about anyone else in the room. It didn't matter to him where Angela or Max had disappeared to, and he definitely didn't care where James had gone. Because the moment he took her hand in his and rested the other tenderly on the small of her back, the entire world fell away. He had barely touched her, let it be a brush of fingers on her arm or a hand on her shoulder, since the rainy night when she had shared the truth of her feelings for him from the passenger seat of his SUV with the rain dripping steadily from her hair down her fair skin, running together with the tears that had flowed so heart-crushingly free down her cheeks. _

_He started to lead them. She seemed unsure of herself for a moment or two, and then suddenly he saw her. Really, truly, _saw_ her. The old Bones, the one he missed just hanging out with after a case, and eating Thai food with at ungodly hours of the night. A flame sparked in her eyes, and with a lopsided smile, she suddenly pulled them in the other direction, taking control. This was how he would have expected her to act, and it sent a sad shiver down his spine to think that while this was beautiful, it wasn't completely real. No matter how much it felt like she was his, while she swayed in his arms… she wasn't. And after this moment, it wasn't likely he'd ever get to feel this way again._

_Rather than letting that destroy the moment, though, he soaked it in until he didn't think it was possible to feel anything but the way he was feeling in that moment. Her warm skin under his hands, her crystal eyes staring deeply into his dark brown ones, her dress swishing smoothly around her ankles as she guided them…_

_He could get lost in the moment forever, and never let go._

It was by holding on to that single moment that he managed to not hate the memory entirely. At least, when he had that, it meant that not everything was lost to him.

"Hey," he called loosely as he stepped through the open door to find the entire gang gathered around the Angelator V.3, which was her most recent design. Much like the past two, it handled all the complex information she programmed in as well as had the capability to recreate crime scenes and events. Since the wedding, she'd been working on it off and on, something that conflicted with her work and home schedule and led to more than a little friction between her and Hodgins.

The couple had three kids, now. The first, Garrett, was born in June, while Brennan had still been in the early phase of dating with James. While he and the others had all expected them to wait a while before having any more, it had barely been a year before she announced she was pregnant once more, this time with twins. He had a hard time keeping track of their ages at first, but now he just settled for counting off of the number of years since he'd lost Brennan. It worked, because it was something he never had the fortune to forget. Currently, Garrett was six going on seven, and the twins — Kate and Trace — were five.

He tried to stay out of the drama between the artist and her husband, but as always, he had managed to pick up enough to get the general idea of what was going on. Apparently their parenting styles weren't exactly in agreement with each other. It was similar to his situation had been with Rebecca, minus the whole custody issue. Angela was more of the free-going parent, and Hodgins always ended up playing the bad guy. With Garrett now in first grade, the two weren't on speaking terms after several arguments that had made their way into the work place, disrupting the last consultation he'd come by to do a few weeks prior. From the icy distance between them now, it was fairly obvious things hadn't improved.

"Hey, G-man," Angela greeted him, sounding tired but otherwise pretty much her same old self. "Need something?"

"I need a team that can solve the murder of a woman set on fire in an elevator, actually. Know where I can find one?"

She laughed, but Brennan was the first to speak, a familiar crease between her eyes.

"We have a case?"

"Yes," he said calmly, with a nod. "Grab your coat." She stayed for a moment, and then finally nodded and vanished out of the office, her hair swirling over her shoulders as she rounded the corner. He turned his attention back to the rest of the group.

"Anything you can tell us right off?" Cam questioned.

He glanced at the screen before answering, and realized gut-wrenchingly that they hadn't been working, but rather looking through a photo collection. Brennan's camera was still hooked to the platform device Angela used to input data from. Pulling his eyes away from the images of his partner with her husband and son, he focused on his old friend's face and forced a response from his lips.

"Body found in an elevator. Burnt to a crisp, according to my guy; the fire department had a hard time getting access to the elevator cart. Some sort of failure in the system, I'm thinking. Probably intentional, and if not, then pretty damn lucky for our killer."

"You aren't kidding," Hodgins said, joining the conversation. "Any leads yet?"

They were clearly starved for some activity around here. Especially if Cam had approved and joined in on this little photo-sharing session.

The image in the middle of the screen right then was of Brennan with her arms around her son, Nicholas. James stood to the side with an arm looped easily around to rest on her hips. It was at some sort of fair. He didn't pretend to know what it was or when they had gone, only that she hadn't mentioned it to him, and he hadn't expected her to.

Just a sad fact of his life.

"Booth?"

His eyes snapped away from the screen to land unfocusedly on the woman who had just spoken his name. "Bren is probably waiting for you."

Both of them ignored the fact that Hodgins had posed a question. Him because he didn't feel like answering, and Angela because… well, just _because._

"Right," he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder before sending one more long look at the photograph, trying very hard not to let his brain replace James' image with his own. Torturing himself never worked out well; he had learned from plenty of experience in the past few years. "I'll fill you in on the details when we get back," he said abruptly, as an afterthought, and then half-jogged out of the office.

Brennan was standing impatiently by the main doors, looking around and tapping her foot. She was holding her jacket folded over her arms rather than wearing it, he noted. It was somewhat cold out. _He_ was wearing a jacket. But trust her to not follow his obvious meaning in the statement when he said for her to get her jacket.

_"You said nothing about putting it on," _he could practically hear her telling him.

"Let's go," he said as he joined her, leading the way out. He didn't voice the comment that was going through his head. Didn't start a pointless conversation. It would have begun as banter like a thousand times before, and then it would have fallen into awkward silence. He'd learned that over time as well.

She followed him wordlessly, finally pulling the coat on as they entered the chilly parking structure. She climbed into the passenger seat and instantly requested the details of the case as he cranked the engine. He tossed his PDA into her lap, and she picked it up and scrolled through the emailed file he had received on what they knew so far. Things had advanced at the FBI, one of them being that every agent had one of these, and most files were digital. That didn't mean any shortage of paperwork, of course, but still, it did simplify some things. The mandatory and high-tech GPS system in his SUV's dashboard wasn't making him complain, either. He hadn't gotten lost in years, since they'd first taken all the government-issue vehicles into maintenance and installed them in waves.

"This was in a nice part of town," She commented with a raised eyebrow, sending one glance his way before turning her attention back to the file.

"Which is why we need to be careful. We don't know what sort of high profile people we might be getting involved with."

"Do they think the victim lived in the building?"

"The FBI is questioning the neighbors, but it's not exactly a small building. More than enough empty knocks… people stay out late working or clubbing."

"Or having sex," she added with a nod, not noticing how he cringed. It was no wonder she called him a prude, with his reactions to the topic, but what she never quite understood was that it was discussing it with _her_ that was the problem. Especially now, seeing as he was all too aware of what she engaged in with her _husband_.

"The doorman," he continued, clearing his throat, "Remembers several people coming into the building late that night, before the alarms started going off. But he's new; the last one apparently moved away recently. He doesn't know faces and names yet."

"Is he a suspect?"

She caught on fast; had greatly improved at figuring out motives and suspects in the past few years.

"He's being questioned, but they aren't taking him in."

"Why not?"

"No motive we can find. He's young and freaked out. I haven't talked to him yet, but I don't think he's involved."

She nodded again, and continued to scroll until she reached the bottom. Wordlessly, she handed the PDA back to him, and he shoved it in his pocket as he rounded a corner. He hit the siren and blasted through the next set of lights, slowing down to begin the game of swerving in and out of traffic. The apartment building was straight ahead, and he could already see the flashing lights from the assortment of crime scene and fire department vehicles.

Pulling in against the sidewalk on the wrong side of the street, he stepped out and held out his badge to the cops that instantly started to approach, hands on their holsters.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said, and then gestured to Brennan, "This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

The first of the officers reached out to shake his hand. "Glad you're here. Agent Sanders is in the building waiting."

"And I'm sure he's getting impatient," he offered with a smile.

"That he is, sir," the officer agreed with a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.

"Lead us to him."

The cop turned and led the way, talking on his radio as he went; letting his superiors know that the anthropologist had arrived on the scene.

"About time," Charlie said the moment he spotted them, moving away from the fire investigators he had been talking with.

"Where's the body?" Brennan asked at once, getting right to the point.

"Some things don't change," Charlie half-muttered before he answered loudly. "Fifth floor, Dr. Brennan."

She took two steps towards the elevators before he stopped her with a hand on her upper-arm. She froze at once and turned back to him with a glare set firmly on her face. He released her instantly.

"Sorry, Doc, but you're going to have to take the stairs. They shut down both elevator shafts. And from what I hear, they weren't very good elevators to begin with."

She blinked a few times, her expression blank, and then spun on her heel and started swiftly up the flight of stairs to their right. He took a step to follow her, but stopped short, and then ran a hand down his face and turned back to Charlie. Better to let her do her thing, uninterrupted.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to this new operation procedure, anyways. For the past few years, all they had done was this. She went for the body, he went for the suspects, and beyond that… they shared the data, but never the experience. He rarely ever saw her on the job, anymore. Division of labor. _The most advantageous use of our skills_, she had said, more than once. He hated it when she treated him like that… when she gave him answers in that old, robotic way he hadn't heard from her so strongly since they'd first started working together. It was hard to remember the days when they had shared every aspect of the job together — the chase, the long conversations in the diner, the evidence analysis in the lab, the interrogations, the arrest… the paperwork over Thai food while they sat on her couch together.

Charlie introduced him to the arson inspector, who explained the use of accelerant, the unique way the fire had behaved under the conditions created once the elevator door had closed, and the duration it had burned while their crew had worked to open the doors. It was all information that Brennan would need to hear as well, but he was sure that she would be informed on her own, while she was upstairs working on the body. It made him feel almost unnecessary. Like he didn't belong in the same world as her anymore.

For now, though, he could do whatever possible on his own end. Maybe this time he'd get the chance to actually _work_ with her again. Because what it had felt like, increasingly with the more time that passed, was that it was never going to start going back to the way it had been.

Some things he was never getting back, and he had accepted that. But there was other stuff, like working lunches, that he wanted to reestablish more than anything.

Charlie waved over a young man in a traditional doorman uniform, who looked shaky at best.

"I'll leave you to it," Charlie said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I've gotta go sort out the circus out there."

"Have fun," Booth said with a smirk before he turned his attention the younger man. "You are?"

"The doorman, sir," he answered, his eyes huge and his hands shaking.

"I know," he answered shortly, "What's your name?"

"Oh. Rory Hart."

"Alright then, Rory. Can you tell me what you saw last night?"

"I… I'll try, sir. But, the… the other police… they didn't… they weren't very happy with my answers… I just… I guess I didn't pay close enough attention…"

"Just give me what you know. You're not in any trouble, Rory."

He nodded frantically, looking very eager to believe that.

"Alright." He looked at his shoes, shuffling them for a second, before he looked up again and began. "I just can't believe this happened, y'know?" At Booth's pointed look, he stammered, "Sorry. Just… yeah. Sorry. I was… I was right out there, by the door. A few regulars came in… I'm sorry, I just don't know their _names_…"

"Focus, Rory. I understand that you don't know their names. Can you describe any of them? Perhaps you remember delivering a package for one of them and know what floor they live on..?"

"The… the body they found. Wasn't it on the fifth floor?"

"Yes, but that only means that it's where the fire was set. We don't know where the victim was going."

"Wouldn't that mean she was going further than the fifth floor?" he asked, looking excited now, like he was hoping maybe this time he could be helpful. Booth almost hated to burst his bubble.

"When you work in my business long enough, you'll learn that things are seldom what they seem. We don't know who the killer is, so we don't know where they came from. For all we know, they were waiting on the fifth floor and just… hit the button. Or maybe they were waiting in the elevator, and the fifth floor was simply where they stopped after she was dead."

"Oh."

"Don't worry about it, kid. Tell me, though, do you have any surveillance measures here?"

"We used to. When I first started working here, that camera worked." He pointed to the one that was aimed at the front doors from a mount on the corner of the wall separating the elevators and the opening to the stairwell.

"And now it doesn't?"

"Yeah. It stopped working. The building owner told me not to worry about it, but to keep the camera up. It discourages people from doing illegal stuff."

"I'm sure it does. Back to who exactly you saw going in and out of the building, though?"

"Right. Uh… about a dozen or so tenants went by me. Most going out rather than in. I'm supposed to be replaced by the night guy at eleven, but with everything that happened…"

"Did that night post man come at eleven?"

"No, I called him. Told him what had happened. The police told me that they didn't need him to come by… probably because it was already a zoo outside. I passed that on to him."

"Right." That made sense. "If you saw these people again, would you remember if they were the ones who went by you?"

"I… I don't know."

Well, he was done with this guy. He wasn't getting any more from him.

"Alright, that's all I need for now."

"Does that mean… I can go home?"

"We'll be in touch, but yes. You can leave."

The young man sighed in relief. "Thank you."

He just nodded distractedly and turned to find Charlie once more. Catching the other agent's eye, he pointed towards the stairs and got a thumbs up before he turned back to the conversation he was conducting in the doorway with what appeared to be a very uncooperative apartment owner. Most likely someone who had just arrived home and wanted to cut through the thick of their crime scene to get to her apartment.

Booth bounded up the stairs two at a time, nodding to the techs that he passed on the way, who appeared to be combing every inch of the stairs, bit by bit. He didn't envy them.

By the time he hit the fifth floor, his legs were burning. He wasn't exactly a young man anymore, something that he was reminded of on a regular basis every time he was forced to chase suspects or trek through difficult terrain. It gave him an uncomfortable twinge in his gut to think that his field career might finally be reaching its closing time. He wasn't looking forward to his future of desk duty, but he had to accept that it was approaching. At least, however, he had the safety net of knowing he could probably take a promotion and earn a somewhat decent pay to make up for the lack of action.

He had already been offered such a promotion, to be honest. More than once, in fact. Cullen had always been only half-eager to give the opportunity, though, a part of him clearly hoping Booth would turn it down each and every time. It was a nice boost to his ego, if nothing else, to know that he was still wanted in the field as a top agent.

When he rounded the corner he found the elevator doors surrounded by techies in uniforms. It only took him a second to realize they were all keeping a careful distance from the actual elevator cart, the door of which was locked open.

Brennan was inside, crouched down on her toes with her knees jutted out as she carefully peeled back a piece of skin with her gloved hand.

"What do we have so far?" he asked as he stepped into the opening, carefully to keep his feet at least six inches from the pool of fluid on the floor.

She glanced up, unfazed by his arrival, and answered calmly in her expected monotone.

"Female, early thirties. Back of the cranium was bashed in; it looks like cause of death. But I can't be sure until I have her back in the lab."

"So the fire was to destroy the victim's identity."

"It looks like it. Cam will confirm either way after she looks at the lungs and trachea."

"Anything else you can give me? A possible weapon?"

"Blunt object," she said with a concentrated frown as she bent over the body again, something new catching her eye. Whatever it was, she didn't share.

"Do you… want to help me question the neighbors?"

She hesitated a moment, and he could almost see the exact moment when she decided it would be a bad idea. And right after that, he saw the moment when her eyes shifted as she formed the necessary excuse. It was almost as if she didn't care that he saw through it, because she certainly knew he would. She just also knew that he wouldn't do anything about it.

It hurt like hell.

"No, I should stay with the body. There are a… few other things I need to look over before transport."

He nodded, disappointment radiating off of him in waves, even though he shouldn't have expected any different.

"Let me know if you come up with anything that might help," he said, trying to hide his frustration but probably failing miserably.

He turned away from the elevator, ignoring the obvious sympathy looks he got from a few of the men who had overheard his conversation before he stepped down the hallway to where a few agents had blocked off the neighbors from leaving. The last thing these people needed to see was a burnt body in their elevator.

"Booth," Agent Thomson said with a relieved sigh after he spun around to confront him. The other agents turned back to the neighbors as Thomson stepped away. "Glad you're here… this is quite the interesting lot, here."

"All of them from this floor?"

"No, they're from all over the building. Damn nosy neighbors flocked right to this floor the minute they found out the alarm didn't mean them any actual danger. You know that half of these bone-heads didn't even leave the building?"

Booth shook his head. "Why am I not surprised? Although, with the state this building is in, I have to say, false alarms probably aren't too rare."

Thomson laughed shortly. "No kidding." He waved vaguely over his shoulder as he posed his question, "Any of these crazies catch your eye for the first in line?"

"Might as well get the worst of them off your hands. Point them out."

"That one there is Stewart Hobbs. He claims to know about everyone in the building. Real super spy," he added sarcastically. "If he lets you in his apartment, I wouldn't be surprised if you find a stalker wall, to be honest."

"Good to know," he muttered before he walked purposefully towards the group, getting assailed at once with an overflow of questions.

"Who's dead?"

"Who pulled the alarm?"

"Was there really a fire? I smelled smoke, I swear I did!"

"Is Dr. Brennan really here?"

That last one made him cringe. The more books she came out with, the harder it was to go to a crime scene without getting recognized. The fact that they'd finally made a movie out of it didn't help matters. Especially with how well it had gone over in the box office.

"You. Hobbs, right?" he said, singling out the straggly looking man with the blonde hair hanging in wisps over his icy blue eyes.

"I… yeah."

"Come on, you're up first. The rest of you, you'll get your chance to answer my questions in a minute."

He ignored the complaints and the rest of the questions he had hurled at him as he hooked his hand under the young man's arm and dragged him down the hallway and around the corner.

"Where's your apartment?" he asked the instant they were out of sight.

"Up a floor."

"Then I guess we're going up," he said grimly, pulling his companion around the last few corners until they came back to the opposite side of the elevators, at the staircase.

Hobbs attempted to get a look, but Booth resolutely yanked him forward and upwards until they were finally on the sixth floor. That was where Hobbs apparently drew the line, because he jerked himself out of Booth's grip and rubbed his arm.

"Alright, who is it?" he asked. "Who's the body in the elevator. And don't tell me there isn't one, because I'm not that stupid."

"We don't know, Mr. Hobbs. Which is why you need to _help_ me."

"You need my help?"

Good God, it was going to be one of _those_ interviews.

"Yes. We need you. Now, tell me… do you know of any women in the building, in their early thirties, who might have enemies that would try to kill them?"

He looked almost disturbingly eager to answer that question, and he stammered as he tried to rush to spit out everything at the same time. "Kelly's got an abusive boyfriend, but she got rid of him a few months ago… the new guy could have something I don't know about yet, though. And then there's… Maggie, she lives just below me; she keeps to herself, which means she's got some sort of secret I'm sure. Uh… Rena's just got out of jail, but she's more in the forty range, I'm pretty sure. Gail is expecting an inheritance, so there could be a robbery motive there…"

"Have you seen any of these woman today?" he cut him off.

The man thought for a long moment. "Kelly went out this morning to get her coffee. She snuck out the fire escape and I heard her go past; I don't know if she's back yet, but personally I wouldn't blame her. It's been crazy in here. Can I see the body? Maybe I could help you identify—"

"No thank you, Mr. Hobbs. If we need you for anything else, we'll let you know. Which one is your apartment?"

"6F," the man answered on reflex, and received a slight push in response.

"Then I want you to go there and stay there. Understood?"

Scowling, he finally complied and sulked off, leaving Booth to clear his head for a moment before he went down to collect the next possible suspect/witness. Hobbs didn't seem likely, but he wasn't off the possibilities list. At the very least, he was a creep. Possibly a pervert. There was every chance he was actually involved, what with how invested he seemed to be in everyone else's lives.

"Next," he called as he finally rounded the last corner.

"Calvin Jacobs," a man in his early forties said eagerly, stepping forward to vigorously shake his hand. He had a slight British accent, and he hadn't been one of the ones rattling off questions. Booth had him follow until they were around a few corners, but stayed on the same floor this time.

"Anything that you might have seen or heard that could help would be highly appreciated," he said, watching Jacobs with interest. So far, he showed no signs of the nervousness or excitement that the man before him had possessed. It was a good start.

"I'm going to assume that you don't have an ID," the man began intelligently. "So I'll start with this. I haven't seen my neighbor in a few days. Her name is Gail Stafford."

"That's very helpful. We'll look into it. Anything else you have to share?"

"Unfortunately, that's all I have. I came out to see what was going on, and figured I might as well share."

"Much appreciated," Booth answered with a surprised raise of his eyebrow. Normally, he'd call this type of witness statement suspicious. But the guy was honest, and he had a look in his eyes that said he didn't really want to live here, and was just trying to get by. Booth liked him, and he believed him.

The other man nodded and headed the opposite way, letting himself into the apartment at the end of the hall, and Booth sighed, running a hand through his hair and breathing out a harsh sigh before heading back. It was going to be a long morning.

**Feedback makes me happy. Very happy.  
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**I have no set update schedule planned for this, and I'm hoping to stay ahead so I always have a couple chapters in reserve... but you can expect a chapter a week at the least.  
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	3. Over My Head

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys. I was hoping to get more written before I posted another chapter, but stuff came up and it didn't happen. But fear not, I'm still ahead of schedule. Song for this one is Over My Head by The Fray.**

_Chapter 2: Over My Head_

_But that's disregard  
You find another friend and you discard  
As you lose the argument in a cable car  
Hanging above as the canyon comes between_

_May 25__th__, 2018_

"Dr. Brennan?" a woman's voice called. "Dr. Brennan?"

"It's me, Julie," she called, tossing her keys on the counter and un-shouldering her bag, looping it over the back of one of the bar seats.

The young woman stepped into the kitchen, and Brennan waved towards the door.

"Go ahead and take your lunch break. I'll need to get back to work by two." It was only twelve-thirty at the moment; the woman was getting double the time off, and she knew it. Nodding gratefully, she didn't say anything but a quick 'thank-you' before she pulled on her purse and made her way to the door.

She paused when she reached it, though, and turned back with her fingers around the handle. "Nicholas is watching cartoons in the den; I gave him his matchbox cars to keep him busy."

"Alright. Have a good lunch, Julie."

"Thanks again, Dr. Brennan."

No matter how many times she told the nanny, the young woman still refused to merely call her Temperance. By now, she'd given up attempting to turn her towards it, and just accepted that it wasn't going to change.

As the door shut and the woman disappeared down the stairs on the front porch, Brennan turned her attention to the house, which was, as always, spotless. While she had been mostly against hiring a nanny, she had been _fully _against hiring any sort of maid. She managed the cleaning herself, when she found a spare minute. Julie did take care of some of the little things, though, like cleaning up the mess from Nick's lunch on days when neither she nor James could make it home to spend the time with him.

And his toys were almost always where they belonged when she stepped in the door after a long day, which was, admittedly, a huge stress-reliever. She'd never have imagined just how problematic something like that could be until she'd stepped on two toy cars and almost broke her back. Just one of the many things she'd learned in the past few years that came with being a mother all of a sudden.

To be honest, she'd never imagined that it would _ever_ happen. Not after she'd convinced herself it was a bad idea after her initial spur-of-the-moment decision in Sweets' office all that time ago. It wasn't a mistake she had thought she would make again — convincing herself that parenting was a wise choice for her future. And yet, when it had come down to it, she'd found that it was a choice she couldn't possibly regret.

"Nicky!" she called as she peeled off her coat and tossed it over the banister. She could hear the trademark cartoon noises before she rounded the corner into the den, and the moment she entered, she saw exactly what she had been expecting to find.

Her son, Nicholas Russell Turner, was four years old, and he was without a doubt the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen in her life. As James had happily pointed out for the first two years, he looked exactly like her. Which made sense, because boys did tend to look like their mothers, while girls tended to take after their fathers. As a result, Nick had dark auburn hair that hung in curls around his chubby face, and his eyes were a beautiful light blue that captured her heart every time they focused on her when he smiled. And his smile, all on its own, was something to behold.

In personality, he reminded her a lot of Parker, when he had been the same age. Inquisitive and eager to learn everything possible. No doubt it had plenty to do with her rubbing off on him.

He had asked why the sky was blue recently, and she honestly hadn't known what to say. In the end, though, she had settled for telling him the least that he could probably understand — relating it to how he could see his face in the mirror; just like that, the sky could see the ocean. It wasn't as true as it could have been, but he had seemed satisfied, and suddenly it hadn't mattered. It turned out there were things about her scientific side that she was more than willing to sacrifice when it came to her son's happiness.

And someday, she would tell him the exact reason why the sky was blue. Just not today.

"Mom!" he cried, breaking her out of her thoughts as he jumped up, forgetting all about his cars and the show he'd been watching — sitting too close to the television again, she noted — and running forward to throw his tiny arms around her legs as tightly as he could.

She laughed and reached down to stroke her fingers through his thick hair.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed eagerly, breaking away and practically bouncing with typical excitement. "Are we going to the Diner?"

She chuckled and shook her head, dropping down to crouch at his height. "Not today. I thought you might like some mac 'n cheese?"

That was all it took for him to forget all about the Diner and the milkshake he probably would have begged for. She hadn't gotten away from work in the past few days for lunch, and she knew that he deserved something special to make up for it. Brennan wished she could spend more time with him, but it felt like she had finally found a balance, after these four years had gone by, between work and home. To start with, it had been a challenge trying to spend time at work _at all_. And then she had found herself so immersed in work that it had been hard to remember the other life she was leading. It was as if she could only survive at the extremes. For awhile, she'd been afraid that her old suspicions were right, and she really was going to turn out to be a terrible mother.

Gradually, though, time had done its job and she had found a way to share lunch visits and trips to the park with her son, as well as make time to tuck him in and read him bedtime stories whenever possible while still solving cases at almost the exact rate she had before she'd even met James.

Things were different on the job, though. Which could only be expected.

She wasn't the same person anymore, and neither was Booth. Seven years really did a lot to change things; in ways she had never before fathomed possible. Had someone told her, right after she became partners with Booth, that someday she would fall in love with him, lose him, find another man she felt just as strongly about, get married to _him,_ and have a child… she would have thought they were insane. Beyond insane, really, because the old Brennan absolutely believed marriage was never going to happen _anywhere_ in her future. And pregnancy..? Not in her lifetime.

And yet here she was. Actually and truly _happy_.

For the most part. But she avoided thinking about that, instead smiling and turning to her son again. "Nicky, why don't you put on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? I'll call you when your lunch is ready."

"Sure," the boy agreed easily, flopping onto the couch and scooping up the remote. He flipped expertly through the stations, stopping on the correct one just as a new question scrolled across the bottom.

She smiled and tousled his hair again before heading into the kitchen and digging through the cupboards. After testing out several of the boxed options early on, she had quickly decided that she made it better, and had stuck to her own recipe; the one that she had learned from Carly Victor, and the one that she had cooked for Booth on that night that had felt strangely like a date.

The phone rang just as the water was starting to boil, and she answered it with a light, "Brennan."

"Ah, Tempe. Nice to hear your voice." She smiled and twisted to lean her back against the counter.

"James," she said smoothly. "How's your morning going?"

"Very well, actually." He sounded like he meant it, too. "Yours?"

"Good. New case, but I got away to spend lunch here with Nick."

"You going to be home for supper?"

She hesitated, worrying her lip before spinning to pour the noodles into the boiling water and lower the heat. "Probably not," she admitted. "The case looks like it's going to keep me busy until late. You'll be home to make supper for Nick, though, won't you?"

"It depends. We're trying to close a big deal right now; I've been in and out of meetings all morning long. But it's going well." That explained his good morning, she thought with a smile. James did love his work. "If I can't make it, I'll call Daisy. She promised to look after him if necessary, whenever we need the help."

Brennan frowned. "They're awfully busy with little Taylor; I wouldn't want to give them more to worry about."

"Just a thought. What are you making for lunch? I might want some when I get home."

She hesitated. "Macaroni and cheese," she answered.

"Mm. Sounds good."

"I've already started," she said after a pregnant pause. "I'm only making enough for me and Nicky. I don't like to have leftovers building up in the fridge."

"Right," he said, although she knew he didn't believe her. Which made sense, because she wasn't being entirely truthful. At least with her motivation.

Brennan had never made mac 'n cheese for James. Not once since they'd met. If he hadn't noticed by now, it would be a twisted sort of miracle. But for her… it felt the equivalent of chatting about a past boyfriend with him. She and Booth had never dated. Had never kissed under desirable circumstances that didn't involve crying, fighting, or blackmail. And they had never even made it close to sleeping together. The time they had shared a bed during the circus case had been uncomfortable to say the least, and that was as far as the conversation about it had gone.

The thing was, though… after all of it not actually _happening_… the macaroni and cheese still belonged, at least in her heart of hearts, to the thing that had never happened between the two of them. It was a hard line to walk… between wishes and truth. Because a part of her still desired Booth's presence to probably an unhealthy degree. At the very least, it was an _unfair_ one. To Booth, to James, and even to herself. Because she loved James now, not Booth. And regardless of how she felt about her friendship with the other man, the situation wasn't going to change. All that was effected was the fact that now… now she could look back and recognize all those years of partnership for what they were, and she could acknowledge the way she had felt at the time.

What she couldn't do was tell Booth, or for that matter, anyone else. That part of her life was over, and the opportunity had long since passed her by. It had been gone the moment the words had left his mouth that he had met another woman in Afghanistan. Hell, it had been gone the moment she had told held his hand in that airport, and had let it fall away, let him walk away, rather than simply throwing her arms around him and kissing him senseless.

That was a bad way to think though. A way to think that she should _not _engage in.

"I'm going to get back to work. I might see you tonight, if our work doesn't overlap again."

"Alright," she agreed. "See you later."

"Bye."

No 'I love you.' No term of endearment. That was to be expected as well — as she had expected for her whole life, marriage wasn't a perfect science. Bad things happened. Fights and regular old disagreements… until finally they settled into their current phase. Which consisted of talking and acting like everything was perfect, and ignoring the fact that they hadn't had sex in over a month. They both made up for it by not both being home at the same time when night fell. When she got home, James was always already in bed. When he was the one that came home late, she was usually already sleeping. On the off chance they were both around, one of them stalled by spending an extra-long time reading to Nicky.

But she was still happy with her husband. She was still happy in their home, spending time with both him and her son. He still made her happy, even when things weren't perfect. And as she had learned from Booth… sometimes it paid off to have faith in people. Things were going to work out… they always did.

They _had _to.

"Hey, Mom?" her son's voice called from the other room just as she was mixing in the cheddar.

She sighed, and turned down the heat again to ensure it wouldn't burn before she made her way into the den to see what her son needed.

"What is it, Nicky?" she asked as she stepped in and leaned against the doorframe.

"What does 'disfigured' mean?"

She was used to questions about words or science, but it wasn't so often she got questions like this. "Messed up," she answered at once, out of force of habit. She'd gotten familiar with translating to talk that four-year-olds could understand.

It only took a couple of seconds for her eyes to focus in on the reason she was being asked such a question. The television, from the icon in the bottom right corner, was still on the same station she had left him watching. Except now it was showing 'Breaking News' across the top, and a video from a helicopter view. Flashing lights from cop cars and emergency vehicles lit up the scene on the edge of a wooded area, where a crew was working together to transport a stretcher. The words _Disfigured Body Found in Woods_ was in yellow in the blue bar across the bottom of the screen.

It took her all of five seconds to get across the room and hit the 'power' button on the remote.

"Why don't you go sit in the kitchen. Your lunch is almost ready."

"But Mom…"

"No buts. Move, mister."

Grumbling, he slid off the couch and slouched past her. She waited a few moments, looking around the corner to ensure he was out of earshot, and then she turned the television set back on and lowered the volume, sitting down gingerly on the very edge of the couch as she watched.

It never ceased to amaze her, the levels of human depravity and cruelty. From what she was hearing, a woman's body had been found by a pair of hikers. From what the reporters knew so far — which was a lot seeing as the hikers had clearly shared their story — the woman's body was horribly disfigured with cuts, bruises, burns, and blood coating her skin. Even whip marks down her back.

She didn't want to imagine how much of the story her son had caught, but she was hoping it was limited. Very, very limited. She wanted to keep him out of her world, the _real_ world, for as long as possible. He deserved these wonder years, where everything seemed fascinating and magical, and nothing fit into this horrifying truth she and her coworkers dealt with daily. He barely even knew anything about what she did for work… only that she caught bad guys.

_"Like Scar? 'Cuz he killed Mufasa?" _

_ "Exactly like that, sweetheart."_

Another thing she had never expected to become… an expert on Disney movies. She remembered Booth being thrilled when she had understood his Cinderella slipper reference on a case several years back.

Sighing to herself, she turned the television set back to the traditional cartoon station before she turned it off. No sense in leaving it somewhere where Nick might encounter more things she didn't want him seeing or hearing.

A scuffling sound caught her attention, and she turned in time to see the German Shepard in the corner climbing to his feet. She smiled easily, and bent down as he hurried over and buried his face in her stomach. "Good afternoon, Jasper," she murmured, affectionately kissing the top of his furry head. He was a police dog drop-out who hadn't passed the hearing qualifications and therefore hadn't been pushed on to the next step. A sad end for a life of duty, but a happy beginning for family life.

It had been Booth's idea. She still remembered the day when he had driven her out of DC on a long trip to what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, and shown her the dog at the training facility. He had explained the story, and had affectionately informed her that the dog's name was Jasper.

She always doubted that it was true, thinking that Booth had renamed the dog specially for her, but somehow it hadn't mattered whether or not he was telling the truth. The whole thing… the fact that Booth had taken the time to find this dog for her, when he had known she would love him… it had made her feel like there was still something there. Some sort of connection between them that had managed to survive even after she had gotten married. Because she had been married when he had gotten Jasper for her. She had been back from her honeymoon for only a few months at the time.

It was the last time she had felt like that, though. The last time that connection had truly shown through. Because getting Jasper for her… was the last adorable, sweet, Booth-like thing he had done for her. And it was the most prominent reason why she remembered the day so clearly.

Jasper had already been full-grown at a year old, and fully trained, much to her relief. She'd barely given a thought to what James would think of it; she had simply known, the moment she saw the dog, that she was taking him home with her. Love at first sight. It had been their first marital fight, but it hadn't been one she had regretted. Because she had won, and he had relented to the puppy's charm without too much effort.

But the point was that Booth had done it in such a way that… she was never going to forget it.

_"What do you think, Brennan?" he asked, grinning. The fact that he'd used her last name took away from the charm, but it still gave her a warm feeling inside. Knowing he still cared. He'd been calling her that for two years, now. It shouldn't even hurt as much as it did anymore._

_ "He's wonderful," she said, running her hands over the dog's soft fur as he tried to lick her face all over. She laughed as his tongue grazed her cheek._

_ "So, you want to take him home?" he offered, holding out a leash and collar. She accepted both carefully, and her fingers strayed over the dog tag. _

_ Jasper Brennan, it read, along with her new address. There was meaning behind the last name, but she didn't let herself think about what it might be. She had kept her own name, after all. There was every chance that Booth was just acknowledging that, and nothing more. When it came down to it, though, she knew that wasn't true. _

_ Carefully, she looped the collar around the dog's neck and clasped it. The red contrasted nicely with his brown fur. He seemed to like it, because he settled back on his haunches and panted up at her, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. The sight was adorable, and his eyes reminded her of Booth's — dark brown and strangely reassuring._

_ "Yes, I'm going to take him home," she said warmly, turning to look up at him._

_ He beamed even wider. "I'm glad. You two… you're going to get along great, Bones."_

_ Her breath caught sharply in her throat and her eyes went wide. Slowly, she rose up to her full height, standing with barely a foot in between the two of them. He might as well have just called her 'baby' with the way she felt herself react. Shock was the first thread of emotion to cut through her. The name sounded strange off of his lips, like it had the very first time he had ever called her it. Unlike those early days, though, it didn't annoy her. Didn't do anything but make her heart pound. He had just called her Bones, and God did she love the way it sounded. It was like she had never fully acknowledged how much she _missed_ it until that very moment. _

_ "Thank you, Booth," she said softly. When he smiled back, she knew at once that he had understood that the thank you wasn't merely for the dog._

_ He nodded. "You're welcome," he said softly._

_ Just like that, she recognized the use of the nickname for what it was. She had seen through the layers, and she understood what it meant… this was a goodbye. The name, the dog… all of this. It was a final farewell to what they had been. He was accepting that she was married now. He was acknowledging that she had moved on. The dog was a parting gift. The nickname… was one last reminder. He might as well have actually said 'goodbye' instead, but 'Bones…' it meant so much more. And he had known it would. _

_ Unbidden, she felt a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Temperance Brennan did not cry often. Not in the company of others, at least. And even on her own, she tried to avoid it. Since she had met Booth, the majority of times she had broken down had been in front of him, though. And unlike most people she had known, he didn't try to avoid her. Didn't awkwardly attempt to comfort her. He said the _right_ words, and he did the most _right_ thing he could do each and every time… which usually included wrapping his arms around her and refusing to let go until she was ready. _

_ Now, though, she let her hair fall to shield her face, knowing that he would see through it, but knowing, at the same time, that he wasn't going to respond the way he had in the past. Because that part of their lives was over. She had accepted it a long time ago, and he had accepted it, announced it, today. _

_ "Do I need to pay someone?" she asked at last, bending once more over the dog._

_ "All taken care of," he assured smoothly, as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss._

_ She was grateful._

_ As they reached the car, though, she took his hand in hers just before she went around to the passenger side. And she squeezed his callused fingers between her slender ones, and met his eyes for just the briefest of seconds before she pulled away._

_ Her own goodbye._

"Mom?"

Her son's voice jarred her back out of her reverie, and she pushed quickly to her feet again and moved into the kitchen, saving the noodles before they could boil over and transporting them into the pan. For a few minutes, she worked in silence, spreading the bread crumbs and the extra cheese pieces before sliding the whole thing into the oven.

"How much longer?" he asked. "I'm _starving_."

"Sorry, Nicky," she said tossing the oven mitt on the counter and dropping into the seat next to him at the table. "It won't be much longer, I promise. Why don't you tell me about your day?"

His hunger forgotten, her son was quick to recount every episode of his favorite cartoon that he had re-watched that morning, as well as go into detail on the games he had played with Julie, and how many he had won. He also announced that he had drawn a new picture, but it wasn't quite finished yet, so she wasn't allowed to look at it.

She was disappointed when she heard Julie coming back in the door, and a glance at the clock had confirmed for her that it was time to return to the lab.

"I have to go," she told her son, kissing him on the top of his head and putting both of their dishes in the sink. "We'll finish our card game later, all right?"

"I guess," he said, pouting slightly. She wished she knew a way to make him understand how important her job was, because she knew that in her four-year-old's eyes, work was merely the reason she wasn't home enough.

"I love you," she said softly as she pulled her bag back over her shoulder.

"Love you, too," he answered, climbing down from his seat. "Will you read me the next chapter tonight?"

"I'll try to be home in time, sweetheart, I promise. And if I'm not, I'm sure Daddy would love to."

He screwed up his face. "Daddy doesn't do the voices right. And he reads too fast."

She laughed. "Okay, sweetheart, tell you what. You have Dad read you one of your picture books tonight if I'm not home in time, and we'll catch up on the next chapter of Peter Pan when I'm home."

"Okay," he agreed eagerly, just as Julie stepped in the room. It always crushed her heart, leaving her son with someone else. Some days, it made her want to quit her job entirely and just stay at home. It wasn't as if she needed the money; between her books and James' business, they were very well-off, and that wasn't something that was going to change. But her career was important to her, and important to others as well. Every time she considered it, she flashed back to cases she had worked where, had she not been there, things would have turned out differently. How could she deny these innocent people who came across the lab tables the right to have justice served to them? Conceited as it might be, she was still the best in the country and the leader of her field. There was a lot of good she could still do.

It had taken a long time to find this balance, and she intended to keep it this way. And for the most part, she did find ways to get her weekends free unless they were on a particularly time-dependent case.

"Can we go to the park tomorrow?" Nick's last question caught her just as she was about to open the door, and she turned around and gave him an easy smile.

"That sounds like a plan."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Any news?" she called as she bounded up the stairs and turned into her team's section of the platform, hearing the satisfy whirr of notification buzzers go off as they read and accepted her identification.

Cam was nowhere in sight, and neither was the body, so it was assumable that she was working with it at the moment. The rest of the team, however, was present. Mr. Cedric Harper, her intern for the past year, was the first to greet her.

"Nothing as of yet, Dr. Brennan. Dr. Saroyan is performing the autopsy and Dr. Hodgins is analyzing particulates."

"I can see that," she noted, her eyes flicking to where Hodgins had his face pressed to one of his oversized microscopes.

He was good at his job, but had a tendency to supply details she was already aware of. Unlike Zach, he didn't challenge her standards or come up with things she hadn't seen first. So, he was a moderate forensic anthropologist still at least a full year away from his doctorate. Possibly more. But she did have to admit he was an improvement from past experience.

Zach had been the best fit for the team, something that no one denied. Finding out he hadn't actually killed that man had been one of the greatest reliefs in her life, as well as one of the most confusing. For years, he had stayed quiet in that 'loony bin,' claiming to be guilty, when in truth he had been as far away from turning into a killer as he had been on his first day nervously working on the platform with the rest of the team. It seemed that, after a long enough time, he felt the need to tell the truth — either that, or Sweets had finally convinced him that it was the best choice. Regardless, though, he had been released. The Jeffersonian Institute, however, had not been welcoming, and had not been willing to rehire him. Cam, of course, had been eager to. As had Brennan. But it wasn't up to them, in the end. The lab didn't hire felons, and it had indeed been a felony to aid a serial killer, even without joining in on the actual killing. So Zach, having served his time for his involvement, had been forced to move on to other things. Currently, he ran a research lab in Maryland, which was making groundbreaking discoveries that could aid forensics. He visited DC every now and then, and they were always thrilled to see him. Unofficially, he had helped them with more than one difficult case, and they were even putting a few of his newest ideas into practice in their investigations, the most recent being Angela's latest software upgrade to the Angelator, which included scanning abilities that ranged far beyond the old capabilities. A skull could now be scanned in and depth of tissue markers were measured and analyzed without ever having to put the actual markers on the bones.

As for the other interns that had passed through the lab, all of them had moved on elsewhere as well. Wendell had stayed the longest, lasting out a few years beyond the others, but he had eventually taken a job offer to teach in England, and they hadn't heard much from him since then. The occasional postcard.

Daisy was the only other intern that was in touch, and she had given up anthropology quite some time ago, deciding to follow her mentor in another aspect and become a writer. While her ideas were more fantastical, they were doing well enough that she and Sweets had moved into a nice home only ten minutes around the corner from where she lived with James and her son.

After the rotating interns, though, the lab had returned to more traditional means of supplying extra help as well as teaching. Brennan still had her regular classes to teach, but now she only kept one active intern at a time, just as she had during the time when Zach had been with them. Three had passed through since then and gone on to successful careers, none of them fitting into the family so well as to be offered a permanent position the way Zach had. She didn't doubt that the same would be said of Mr. Harper when his day to leave finally came around.

"Ah, there you are, Sweetie," Angela's voice called from behind her. She turned as another whirr of buzzers went off, and the artist joined them. "Did you have a good lunch?"

"Yes, I did, actually. What have you come up with on ID so far?"

"Cam's got a dental search running, and I've got the system scanning through facial recognition. The skull is in my office, and I've got the shattered pieces of the cranium as well. Feel free to collect them if you want to start reconstructing."

She nodded. "I'll do that later. Is Booth back yet?" From what she had understood as they parted ways, he was just going to grab a bite at the Diner. The invite had been obvious, but she had silently turned it down.

"Not yet."

"Alright. I'll want to be filled in if he comes by with anything from the interviews that might shed light on either cause of death or identity."

"Of course. Bren, can I just—"

"I have some emails to answer," she said shortly, expecting Angela to push the issue again. Her friend always noted when something was wrong, and had been trying to corner her for a while now about her issues with James. If it was possible to have a talent for sensing sexual frustration, Angela had it. It was like she _knew_ that things weren't going well at home.

Turning on her heel, she headed straight for her own office, knowing her friend wouldn't follow her. At least, not right away. This just wasn't something she wanted to discuss. Not right now, anyways. She wanted to just… forget about it, and hope that it sorted itself out like everything else eventually did when it came to this marriage. This wouldn't last forever, after all. They would be back to normal just like always.

Her inbox was full, which was a reminder to her that she needed to start answering more promptly. Burying herself in Limbo just to keep herself occupied wasn't helping her career much.

Most of the mail was from her editor, but the rest was from other departments, asking for authentications and signatures on paperwork or societies and colleges requesting her to visit or lecture. She wasn't particularly interested at the moment, but she saved the emails anyways, and then turned her attention to the ones that pertained to her second job.

Her publisher was reminding her, mostly, about the book signing she had coming up. But more pressing than that was the upcoming deadline on her next novel, which she was currently struggling with at the half-way point. It was always the most difficult part to pass, and this novel was no different than all of those before.

The lives of Kathy Reichs and her partner Andy had long since ended on paper, closing off in a poetic albeit frustrating manner with Kathy getting married to her love interest from the last two books and Andy returning to the role had existed for in her very first book — her partner and nothing more. Readers hadn't liked it very much, but her publisher had forgiven her when her second book series had skyrocketed into the public's eye. Sara Daniels was a street smart cop who had grown up on the streets. Lacking in the intelligence that her counterpart had possessed, she was very much an earlier form of Brennan, filled with knowledge that revolved around how to survive in a cruel world that never was what she wanted. Readers loved her attitude and her sarcasm, which was a very proud moment for Brennan, given that she didn't have the ability to use such skills in normal conversation. It had taken a lot of research, and a lot of help from Angela to get the personality developed in an understandable way. To start with, the sarcasm had come from Angela, but after a while… she'd gotten a good hold on it herself, and had stopped needing the aid.

With the movie out for her first book, though, Kathy and Andy had resurfaced in her mind. They made writing about Sara challenging if not impossible. It didn't help that James seemed to make plenty of note out of the fact that Andy was based off of Booth, something she couldn't very well hide anymore. Her loyal fan-base was begging her to come out with another Kathy/Andy novel to close off the series in a more satisfying manner, but she just couldn't do it. They were done, and so was she.

She had barely finished sending out her last response when a knock sounded on her door, and it opened before she had even looked up to respond. Angela stepped inside and moved straight towards her, dragging a chair and dropping down into it. Brennan didn't even form a full word before Angela cut through her like a steam engine.

"I need some advice, Sweetie. So could you please stop focusing on the case and give me two seconds so I can… unload my problem and hear your answer to it? Because I could really use your shoulder right now, and I don't know what else to do."

She blinked a couple times, feeling more confused than she had in a long while, and then nodded weakly, not knowing if she really had any other option.

"All right. So Jack and I are having some… issues. And I know that you and James are having some of your own, and that you seem to be handling it okay because you aren't… because it isn't nearly as obvious as with me and Jack. And because you haven't come to me for help. So I was hoping that maybe you could help me work through mine before you bury yourself in solving this murder."

"I'll… do my best," she managed.

"Thank you, Bren. Really. Here's the problem, see… I've been working late, trying to do things in the lab to improve how we work, and how efficiently we solve cases. I think I finally see where you were coming from, all these years, with work being therapeutic. It just… takes over, you know? Some days, I don't even know if I want to go home, I get so caught up in programming and drawing…"

She found herself nodding in agreement, waiting for Angela to get to the point but fully understanding what she was saying in the meantime.

"Anyways, Hodgins is accusing me of making him look bad on purpose, because he had to be the one to say no when they ask if they can have ice cream for supper, or if they can go the movies with their friends… you know, all sorts of things that kids ask."

"I'm not quite there yet, but I do get what you're saying." She wasn't familiar with being asked to go places alone, because Nick didn't have any friends besides the neighbors and Sweets' son, but she was used to being pestered to take him out to eat or give him more junk food.

"I figured as much. But do you see where my problem is?"

"I… think so?"

Angela sighed. "I understand where Jack is coming from. And I know why he's frustrated. But I spend just as much time with the kids as he does, and what I do here, in the lab, is important to me. It almost feels like… I don't know, the universe is working against us. We work different hours, we barely see each other at home what with taking Kate to dance and Gary to tee ball practice and dealing with them when one of them is sick… and it just doesn't feel like it used to. It used to be… I don't know, _easy_."

"I know exactly what you mean," she found herself saying without giving her mouth permission to blurt out the words.

"You do?" Angela asked, confusion evident at her sudden change in tone.

"I... yes, I do."

"Because of your problems with James right now?"

Trust her to go straight for the heart of it.

But it wasn't as if she could feasibly get away with lying now, so she answered honestly.

"Yes. James and I... haven't been seeing very much of each other, either."

"What are you doing about it?" Angela queried, clearly eager for some sort of solution.

Which made her sigh and break their eye contact. "Nothing, to be honest. We're just sort of... living with it."

"Oh." Not the answer she'd been expecting at all. "Well... I've been considering couples therapy. I doubt Jack is going to go for it, but I thought it might be worth a try. Maybe, if you think so, we could both try it."

"I don't know, Ange," she said hesitantly, her eyes naturally seeking out sanctuary in her office clock, praying that it might say something other than 2:20 so she could think of an excuse to evacuate her office and get away from the prying questions that Angela was merely asking because she was a good friend and she was in a bad situation that just happened to be similar to her own.

"Something to think about, if nothing improves. I don't know how James is going to be about it... but at least consider it."

"I will," she promised, having no true inclination to do anything of the sort. She just wanted to appease the artist and get the room to herself. Even alone, though, she suspected the room would still suffocate her, with how much these walls knew...

"I'll talk to you later?" Angela asked, sensing her discomfort and moving to stand awkwardly in front of her desk, brushing her bangs out of her eyes for the fifth or sixth time. It was a subconscious tick she had when she was nervous, and Brennan had learned it well over the years. She had even wondered what her own was, at one point, and Booth had informed her that she had a tendency to bite the inside of her cheek or roll her tongue over her lower lip.

"Alright," she told her friend distractedly, her eyes already back on her computer screen, even though they weren't actually taking in anything that they found there.

Somehow, couples therapy didn't seem like it would work. How could it, when neither of them had acknowledged there was a problem? Angela and Hodgins would be much more suited to such a thing; not her and James.

It took a mere five minutes for her to realize that she had absolutely nothing to do. Closing out the solitaire game that she hadn't even been really attempting with any sort of interest, she pushed her chair back in and made her way out of the office, looking around instinctively to note where Angela was before she took more than two steps into the open air of the laboratory.

Rounding the corner and staying inconspicuous, she headed up the side of the platform until she reached Cam's office. Thankfully, the other woman was still there, rather than back out on the platform with the rest of the team.

She seemed to have sensed someone's presence, because she looked up before Brennan could knock, and waved for her to come in.

"Do you need something, Brennan?" the coroner questioned over her shoulder as she carried what appeared to be a battered liver over to a separate tray and laid it down.

She spared a glance for the burnt body on the table, and then turned her attention upwards again. "I was just wondering if there had been any progress on the victim's identity."

"Nothing yet," her boss answered, her eyebrows knitted together as she sent a glare at the computer screen, where Brennan could see there was a scan running on the dentals. "This might interest you, though," she said as an afterthought, beckoning her over.

The head was missing, because, as Angela had told her, she had taken it to start searching for the ID in another fashion, but the sight wasn't as disturbing as it might have been normally. The body was nearly unrecognizable as human to begin with, beyond the usual distinctive features that formed the shape of a skeleton. In a sick sort of way, Brennan was almost grateful. She didn't like it when bodies still had the skin on them… it made it harder to detach herself and focus on how they were killed by using the bones.

"The body was completely doused in the accelerant, which appears to be a type of gasoline, but from the burn pattern, I can tell that it started closer to the feet."

"She was dead at the time," Brennan stated rather than questioned. It was a fact that she had been almost positive of during her original examination. "And the killer most likely tossed a match as they were leaving the elevator."

"Close, but no cigar," Cam answered with a slight shake of her head. "The match would have been burned up, but it still would have left a trace. No sign of it."

"So you're saying that the fire was started by something else… a lighter, perhaps?"

"Much more likely. What I'm thinking, is that whoever did this… closed the elevator doors, but blocked them open just enough to fit in a grill lighter."

"It was an older elevator. It would have kept bouncing as it tried to close until there was no obstruction blocking it's path."

"Precisely. The moment the fire was lit…" she made a motion of pulling her hand back, away from the body, "The doors would have shut. How they stayed shut… well that's a matter for someone else to fuss over. So far, this is all I've got."

"Any sign of drugs or anything unusual in the tox screen?"

"Nothing that I could find that was even slightly out of the ordinary. I haven't gotten to stomach contents yet, though, so maybe we'll get lucky there, and we can find out where she ate her last meal."

She nodded thoughtfully, and then turned towards the door. "Let me know if anything else comes up."

Cam chuckled to herself, but called, "Of course, Dr. Brennan," after her as the door shut.

With nothing else to do, she realized that she might as well get a start on the reconstruction of the skull. Once she saw the impact that had shattered the back of the victim's head, she would be able to start narrowing down possible weapons as well as suspects, based on the strength and height which had been required to deliver the blow.

On that thought, she realized it might actually be wise to tag along with Booth in his inquiries. She remembered how, in the past, her analysis of the way a suspect had walked or some sort of feature they possessed had related to the evidence she had found in the lab, cracking the case wide open. That may be necessary again in this case. And it would be unfair of her to ignore the opportunity to provide the best aid in gaining justice for this young woman.

She ignored the possibility that maybe, despite everything else, she just wanted one more opportunity to work in the field with her partner. It felt like it had been so long since they had last gotten the chance to do so, and with the way things were going with James… she felt like this was at least one relationship she still knew the boundaries of, and could trust them to stay the same.

Booth was her friend, after all. He always had been.

Before she could let herself run away with that thought, though, she heard the sound of running heels coming from behind her and turned around just as Cam reached her, almost out of breath.

"I've got the ID," she said, nodding towards her office.

Eagerly, she followed the other woman back there, where a picture was showing on the flat screen, along with the name Margaret Singer.

"I'll call Booth," she said at once, her cell already in hand. But Cam reached out a hand to stop her, and then pointed to the very corner of the screen. Frowning, she looked closer, and then read the company name to herself before her eyes widened in surprise. Margaret Singer worked for James' company.

She knew a lot of his coworkers. Had attended his office parties around the holidays with him, and had even gone along on one of his company retreats. Looking again, she suddenly realized she recognized the woman. The secretary at the front desk… the one who always let her in to see James when she dropped by.

It looked like her suspect pool just gotten a lot closer to home.

**I hope I've got your interest in this story, and you don't think it's dragging. I promise, it will be worth it in the long run. I've got big plans. Any and all feedback is much appreciated. Reviews fuel my typing fingers to move faster and crank out more chapters.**


	4. Learning to Breathe

**A/N: All of your support has been amazing; I can't thank all of you enough, especially those of you who have been so incredible and have reviewed every chapter so far. It's great to know that people are reading and want more. Song for this one is Learning to Breathe by Switchfoot, which is a brilliant song that all of you should check out.**

**ALSO, I have added a short addition to the prologue. A bit of a glimpse ahead, that I felt might be needed. **

_Chapter 3: Learning to Breathe_

_Hello, good morning, how ya do? _  
_ What makes your rising sun so new? _  
_ I could use a fresh beginning too _  
_ All of my regrets are nothing new _

_ So this is the way _  
_ that I say that I need You _  
_ This is the way _  
_ This is the way _

_ That I'm learning to breathe_

_May 25__th__, 2018_

It was no surprise when Parker pulled into the apartment building that his father's SUV was missing. Barely past noon on a Friday afternoon... he would be at the office or off on questioning suspects. He was almost glad to see that his father wasn't there, to be honest. His dad didn't have enough cases to keep his mind off of other things as it was... maybe this was a good sign.

He hoped it was.

Watching his father mope around was getting to be a bit long-suffering.

It was a wonder he'd never paid more attention to it when he had been a kid... after all, kids saw more than they realized they did, and had the capability to comment on it in completely logical ways without realizing the effect of their words.

He had been no different, with his inquisitive questions that he barely remembered but had been told about plenty of times.

What he remembered clearly from those days was the consistency of Bones in them, though. And the way it was all his father seemed to want to talk about... he would listen avidly to his son's stories about his day at school, but then when the tables were turned on him, the only thing he ever seemed to share about his day at work was something his partner had said or done.

It had made complete sense to Parker that they were like the characters in one of his movies. They were just going to be together forever. It didn't occur to him that things didn't _work_ like that. It never made sense that they would fall away from each other... that wasn't how love was supposed to work. And Parker had seen enough Disney movies as a child to believe, at the time, that love didn't fail.

He'd learned more than enough about it since then.

As his parents had predicted early enough on, he hadn't had any trouble attracting girls in high school. Football came naturally, and so did what Bones had informed him was a signature smile that ran in his family.

Of course, he didn't call her Bones anymore. He didn't know what to call her, actually. Mostly he just tried to converse without addressing her by any form of name. As a teenager in sports, most of his friends went by last names. He was more than familiar with being called just 'Booth' by his buddies. But when it came to adults... he'd been brought up by his father to address the parents of his friends by Mr. and Mrs. That didn't exactly _apply_ when it came to Bones, though.

He'd grown up around her and the lab... he'd even gone to a science club taught by her father in that very same building. Calling her 'Dr. Brennan' would make little to no sense, and just plain Brennan wasn't much better.

And yet, no way in hell was he going to brazenly call her Temperance, as he had long ago learned was her actual name. He knew enough to know that she really liked him, but that would be taking a strange step.

There was every possibility he'd still be calling her Bones to this day, if it hadn't been for his father, who had stopped calling her it himself years ago. Ever since she'd gotten married to some other guy that Parker had only met once, and hadn't liked very much.

Once, he'd made the mistake of asking about her... had called her Bones in doing so... and he'd seen a look on his father's face that he wouldn't care to repeat any time in the near future. Never again, actually.

It didn't take a genius to understand that his dad had been in love with her for all those years, and still was. That was probably why he didn't care much for Bones' husband, more than anything else. He didn't even know the guy's name.

His dad hadn't dated much, if at all, since the wedding. Awkwardly, the only person he had seen his father with in the past year had been his mother. It wasn't that he didn't find it nice that his parents were together for _once_ in his life... but it was strange, and it wasn't something he was comfortable thinking about.

At all.

It had been before they'd gotten back together that he had requested to move in with his father. He had every right to do so, at thirteen, but he'd still seen the disappointment in his mother's eyes. At the time, being a rebellious teenager that was sick of rules, he hadn't much cared. Even now, though, realizing some of the flaws in his logic, he didn't regret the choice. Living with his dad had opened his eyes to a lot of things, and he'd gotten a lot closer to him since then. And he liked the lack of strict rules and the open conversations they had, and he dealt with the few rules that were maintained, which included chores and cleaning up after himself. He could handle that.

The last actual and steady relationship he could remember his father having, actually, was with the blonde woman... Hannah, he remembered vaguely. He hadn't minded her so much. She was frank with him, and got right to his level without glossing over things because of his age. He'd like that.

A few years ago, he'd gotten up the courage to ask his father what had happened with that relationship. He just remembered it being okay one day, and gone the next with no explanation. It seemed that his dad didn't see much reason to keep any of it from him, because he'd been completely honest. He and Hannah had differed in opinions on a lot of things, and when his distress at Bones' engagement had become too much, she'd packed her bags and left him behind for Afghanistan.

_"I didn't like her much anyways," _he remembered saying. His father hadn't said much in response, simply shrugging and cutting his eyes sideways at a picture of him and Bones that he kept on the table by the door as if Parker couldn't see him doing it.

As he thought of it, he turned to find the picture where it now sat half-obscured behind a vase on the corner table in the kitchen. He reached over and slid it into the open, looking at it for a long moment. While the idea of his father dating still wasn't one he cared much for, he couldn't exactly deny that they hadn't been practically perfect for each other. And in the picture, regardless of what the truth of it was... they looked like the happiest couple he'd ever seen.

He wished, now, that he'd been more involved in things back then. Maybe he could have talked to Bones in complete honesty and mentioned how cut up his dad was about losing her. He doubted that she even knew the reason why Hannah had left... that might have changed things, too. Might have changed her mind... given his dad another chance. He didn't know everything about what had gone on between the two of them, but he _was_ aware that his father had wanted more, and had made it clear. He wished he knew why it hadn't worked, but that... well, _that_ was something he wasn't going to risk asking about. No need to bring up bad memories.

As he tossed together a grilled cheese sandwich, the radio blaring, his phone buzzed in his pocket, dragging his attention away from his thoughts.

He grinned when he saw the name on the screen, and answered it with his smile firmly in place, swinging the spatula expertly in his hand as he leaned his hip against the edge of the counter.

"Hey, babe."

A short laugh. Such a beautiful sound... he couldn't help but wonder if this was what his dad had felt like about Bones. He felt a stab go through him at the thought of losing it. He'd had enough break-ups through high school to know that not everything worked out, and that there were _plenty_ of ways to get hurt. College was another experience entirely, and one he was already enjoying.

"Park..." the word was half-amused, half-frustrated.

"Yes, Clara?"

"I think we talked about that."

"Yeah, but we didn't agree on anything. And I recall mentioning just how much I like calling you that."

"Several times," she answered dryly. "And I have a feeling we're going to have more than a few more conversations about it in the future."

"If that's what it takes... then it sounds like a plan to me."

"Parker Booth, you are unbelievably-"

"Handsome? Yes, I know. You can tack on charming if you like." His father's friends had informed him he'd inherited his cocky attitude from his father. That was fine with him.

"Oh shut up," she said, but she was trying to hide a laugh, and he knew it.

He turned his tone more serious. "What's up? Did you need me for something?"

"Nah," she answered easily, her previous annoyance forgotten in an instant. "I was just wondering what you were doing tonight..?"

"Actually, I had plans."

"You... what?" she asked, confusion and just a tinge of hurt ringing in her voice.

"Yeah," he answered lightly, flipping his sandwich in the pan and leaning on the counter with his elbows as he grinned to himself, holding the pause for a long moment before finally answering. "See, I was going to hang out with this really pretty girl I happen to be dating."

This time, he heard her laugh clearly. "Really, now?" she asked, teasing, "Do I know this 'really pretty girl' by any chance?"

"Oh, I think so. She's in my advanced Chemistry class. You know, the one that I really don't need to be in because I'm supposed to be going into a criminal profiling career?"

"I think I know the one you mean. This girl... she wouldn't happen to be the _only reason_ you're passing, would she?"

"Now, I wouldn't say _that_, exactly... I could pass on my own..."

"If you had any idea what you were doing on the labs."

"Hey!"

"I only state the truth, _dear_," she replied innocently.

He rolled his eyes, even though she couldn't see it.

A knock sounded on the door, and he frowned as he scooped the sandwich onto a waiting paper plate and shut off the heat. He wasn't expecting anyone, and his dad had a key.

Another knock.

"Are you going to let me in?" her voice asked in his ear, and he almost jumped. In the few seconds of confusion, he'd nearly forgotten he was on the phone.

"You didn't say you were coming right now," he said, laughing as he crossed the apartment in easy strides, pulling the door open.

Clara Hayes, the only reason he actually enjoyed going to his chemistry class and hadn't already found a way to drop it, was standing on the other side looking as beautiful, if not more so, than usual. Her dark brown hair was windswept, and she was wearing a college sweatshirt. No makeup with her glasses perched on her nose, making her dark blue-green eyes all the more vibrant. She had wanted to get contacts, but he'd talked her out of it. She wasn't aware of just how cute those glasses were, and it seemed like she wasn't likely to ever believe him about that.

"Hey," she said, beaming and shuffling her feet. He jumped to the side as he realized he was blocking her path.

"Come on in... I just made grilled cheese. You want one?"

"Dieting," she answered, a reminder in her tone.

He rolled his eyes. She was a health nut, who counted his calories for him, but he couldn't bring himself to dislike her for it. He just hoped that eventually he could turn her around and make her realize that she didn't actually _need_ to watch what she was eating.

Maybe after track season ended, he'd make a bit more progress on that front.

Unlikely, sure, but worth a shot anyways.

"Alright then, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Normally, she came by late when they were sure his dad was going to be working, and they kept themselves busy with a movie as they cuddled on the couch. The movie had a tendency to come in second place as far as their attention went, but it was a good cover for when his father showed up unexpectedly, which, sadly, had happened on far too many occasions. It was a miracle she even agreed to come over here anymore, but then again, it wasn't likely they'd find much privacy in her apartment with her nosey roommates.

"I need a reason to drop by?" she asked with a raised eyebrow before she made herself comfortable on her usual spot on the couch. He fetched his sandwich from the other room and joined her, ignoring her disapproving look as he bit off a quarter of the sandwich.

"No. Just curious," he said around his chewing. She made a face, wrinkling her nose up.

"Could you not do that with your mouth full?"

Teasingly, he leaned closer, and she squealed and pushed him back by the forehead with two fingers. "Watch it, you!"

Laughing, he flopped back against the cushions on his own side and swallowed.

"So?"

"So what?"

He closed his eyes. "So why are you dropping by unexpectedly?"

She got serious suddenly — a whole shift in her demeanor — and it set him on alert at once.

"Clare, what is it?"

She sighed and ran her tongue over her dry lips. Inanely, he thought about offering her his ChapStick.

"There's an internship," she said hesitantly. As he frowned, waiting for the part where this mattered she broke their eye contact and picked at the fabric of her jeans. "Abroad," she added the last, crucial word.

His eyebrows shot up, and he fought for words, but none seemed to come to him. What was she saying?

"I don't... what?" he finally managed to stammer.

She made a face, twisting her mouth to the side and biting the edge of her lower lip. Her lashes raised and she met his eyes again, worry set deeply in her blue gaze.

"It's an offer to study in England," she clarified. "And... I'm thinking about taking the opportunity."

"You mean... going away for a few weeks to attend some lectures..?"

"No. Parker..." she sighed again, running a nervous hand through her hair. "I mean going to England for a _semester_."

What she was saying finally crashed down onto him. She was saying she had an offer to go away. And she was thinking about accepting it. And when Clara 'thought' about something, it meant she had already made up her mind. And changing her mind was never easy. In this case, it looked like it was going to be impossible.

"So you... are leaving?"

"Maybe," she said firmly, reaching out to rest a hand on top of his. He glanced down at the contact, and then back up at her face, a frown slowly setting across his.

"We both know that's a yes," he said, all traces of his former teasing gone. This was serious, and he could feel the panic descending. Beyond the obvious, though, what did this _mean?_

She was looking away again, and he hated it. She wasn't supposed to hide from him anymore... they'd been dating for six months. They knew each other, now, and they accepted each other's faults. He had never lied to her, and as far as he knew, she never had to him.

He just didn't understand what was going on here.

"It's an option, Park. An _option_. It doesn't mean I have to take it."

He couldn't imagine what it would mean if she just took off for a semester. Why would she even _want_ to? She loved going to college _here_. That's what she had told him.

"But we both know you're going to," he answered, letting his anger get the best of him. Why would she do this? Did she want to break up with him, and _this_ was her way of doing it? What had he done wrong? _Had_ he done something wrong? Taken things too fast? Gone too slow?

It was hard to believe he'd ever thought love was easy like it was in the movies.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose above her glasses.

"Why? Because you knew I'd be upset if you just... left me to go study overseas? What do you _want? _And don't tell me you wanted me to be _happy _that you're leaving."

"I was hoping that maybe you might... understand. I've told you how important my career is to me. Studying Biomedical Engineering is going to be my whole _life_."

"I _know_ that," he emphasized.

"Then why can't you see how much this means to me?"

"Because..." he breathed out a harsh sigh. "Because I don't _want_ you to go. Obviously."

The moment her eyes flashed, and even before it, he knew that his final word had been one too many.

"Obviously?" she snapped, pushing to sit on the very edge of the couch and turning to stare at him with her piercing gaze.

He could have groaned out loud. Good God, what did he do to deserve this? Couldn't he ever just have a relationship that didn't lead to things like this? They'd had plenty of fights, but they'd worked all of them out. This one, though... this one was different, and he knew it. She did, too.

"Yes," he argued back, knowing that it was probably a bad idea, but knowing at the same time that he had to have his voice heard on this matter. "Obviously I wouldn't want you to go. Because I wouldn't be able to see you whenever I wanted to, and I would miss you."

Her resolve seemed to weaken, but not enough to stop her next words. "So you're going to be angry with me if I follow this path towards the career I want."

"Not angry," he clarified, trying to think of a better word. "More... I don't know. Sad. Okay? There. I'd be sad if you left."

"I would talk to you every day, Parker. And it's not like we couldn't web chat. It would just be one semester... do you think that if we keep going with this relationship at some point we weren't going to encounter something like this? We can't be in each other's company twenty-four-seven, and you know it."

"But... England is... it's _England_."

She laughed, and the sound alone broke through some of the tension. "I know," she admitted, reaching forward to run her fingers through his tangled blonde hair. "And... I'm not sure if I'd be okay with being so far from home. But... this means a lot to me."

It was his turn to scrunch his face up. "I understand," he admitted at last, and she sighed easily and slid over so she was right up against him, resting her head on his chest. His arm fell naturally around to cradle her into his side, and he kissed the top of her head before she turned it upwards to meet his lips with her own.

"Thank you. And like I said, it really isn't definite. It might go either way. I just wanted you to know about it."

He hesitated a long moment, running his hand slowly up and down her back.

"I'm sorry I got angry," he admitted finally. "I just... I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either. Which is why this choice... I don't know what to do with it. There are good things on both ends. Is it selfish that I want both?"

"Not at all," he reassured immediately, tightening his hold on her. "Not at all."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth snapped his phone shut and pushed away the empty pie plate, digging through his wallet for enough cash to pay the tab and cover the tip.

He had called the lab hoping that they would have new information for him, and he had been right. He wasn't sure whether to be glad that he would be able to avoid going to the lab, or disappointed at the lack of an opportunity. While he knew that Brennan wasn't going to agree to go with him on the investigation, just as she hadn't any time in their recent past, he wasn't sure he was ready to stop trying.

There were a lot of things he'd stopped doing, like Thai food and shared booths at the Diner... but this was the last thing he wasn't willing to give up. These cases were his only connections to her. And God only knew, if he only ever got to see her when he went to the lab, he would find a way to live off of it. But that wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted to work cases the way they used to, even if it meant none of the extra things they used to do together in the process. Even just questioning suspects together almost seemed like too much to ask of her, though.

He put the money down and made his way out of the familiar establishment that hadn't felt very comforting, or even normal, in the past seven years. He was heading back to the apartment building... now that he had an ID to go off of, he could ask more specific questions. With any luck, he'd have a few suspects to bring in for interrogation, and that was where he'd start getting some real answers. After that, he'd turn his attention to the office she worked in.

James' building, he reminded himself. The conversation with Angela had been brief, and somewhat frustrating. He'd been hoping to maybe speak directly to Brennan, even if he didn't see her, but he'd had no such luck. Why the artist was picking up his partner's phone, he didn't know. Nor did he particularly care at the moment.

He was just annoyed.

The drive was smoother this time around, without the media and the police and the fire department. All the evidence had been bagged, and the building swept. The elevator was blocked with crime scene tape, but beyond that, there was no sign that anything in the building had been wrong, beyond the scorch marks on the walls on the fifth floor.

The doorman, a different one from the man who had been there this morning, seemed to recognize him before he even identified himself.

"Rory told me to expect you," he said in explanation, after he had flashed his badge, seeming to guess Booth's question before he could voice it. He nodded in understanding.

"What can you tell me about a tenant named Margaret Singer?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

"Whoa, Maggie?" the man asked in immediate alarm. "The... the _body?"_ he said, hissing the last word under his breath and leaning forward with widened eyes. He was older than the other man, but still younger than Booth. At this revelation, though, he seemed to gain about ten years. "Oh God..." he murmured, and crossed his chest, staring up at the sky briefly.

"What can you tell me about her... sir?"

"Harley Brooks," he said at once. "And... well, I can't imagine who would want to hurt Maggie. She was a sweet girl. Always said good morning and good night to me when I was on my shift..."

"So you can't think of anyone that would want to hurt her?"

"No, I can't. I can't even believe... is she really _dead?"_

"I'm afraid she is, Mr. Brooks. Maybe you could direct me to someone in the building who might know more about why someone would want her dead? Did she have any close friends?"

"Not that I know of..."

"Alright. I'll just get a start on questioning them."

The man nodded, looking regretful that he couldn't have been more helpful. Just as Booth was stepping away, though, he stopped him, "Maybe you should start with Stewart Hobbs. He's in 6F."

"I know him," Booth said with a grim smile.

"Then you know why you should start with him," Brooks said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yup," Booth said, shaking his head before finally turning his back and entering the building. The long trip up wasn't any easier this time around, and he took a moment to catch his breath before he headed around the corner towards the man's apartment.

6F, right where he'd seen Hobbs disappear to.

"Can I help you?" he turned to see a man in suit approaching from the stairs.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," he said at once, holding out his badge as the other man reached him.

"Tyler Kurk. Building supervisor."

So this was the elusive super that he hadn't met yet. His men had already cleared Kurk, but it would be nice to have his take on possibilities. That, and while other people had given the all clear… he always liked to test his own gut before he believed anything for certain.

"Have you identified the victim?" he asked before Booth could say anything.

"Margaret Singer," he answered calmly, watching for a reaction.

He got the expected shock, but nothing suspicious. His gut relaxed, and started moving on to other suspects he might have already spoken with even as he spoke calmly.

"I'm going to need to talk to some of your tenants."

"Fine by me. You encounter any trouble, you let me know. Maggie was a good kid. She paid on time."

"We'll be by with a warrant for her apartment shortly as well. You being ready with the key would help."

"I'll go collect it from the office and have my doorman inform me when your people arrive."

At least he was agreeable enough. Maybe a bit too much so, in a way that made Booth wonder if he wasn't hiding something. Nothing related to this case, his gut was telling him, but perhaps something else. But running a place like this was bound to lead to at least some sort of encounter with the darker side of DC.

Whatever it was, though, be it drugs or prostitution, it didn't involve Booth. He nodded to the other man and turned his attention back towards 6F, knocking firmly on the door and announcing his presence.

The door opened surprisingly quickly. He'd been expecting to be shut out by the strange man he had spoken with morning, but that didn't seem to be the case.

"Back awful soon, Agent Booth," Hobbs said with a surprised eyebrow raise. Then, in a whisper, "It's really Maggie?"

Either news traveled fast, or the man had been standing here with his ear pressed to the door, listening to the conversation in the hallway. His bet was on the latter of the two options.

"Yes, it is. Do you mind if I come in?"

"Not at all."

Well, he was either a very careful stalker, or just a creepy guy with bad social skills, because the apartment was clean… or at least the main room was. He was pretty certain there was probably a stalker wall somewhere in the place. At this point, he wasn't sure if he wanted to find it, or just stay clear altogether.

"From what I hear, you're a very knowledgeable guy, Mr. Hobbs."

"I just pay attention," the other man said with a shrug. Oh, so that's what they were calling it these days?

"Well, if you were paying attention to Maggie… maybe you might be able to tell me who might have had something against her."

"She never had many friends over. There was one woman, I think she worked with her, who used to come by occasionally. Her name was Sue."

"Does Sue have a last name?"

"Probably, but I don't know it."

He looked at him for a moment, but saw he was entirely serious, and shook his head.

"Alright, then. Anything else?"

"She had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend," he added with a shrug. "Although I don't think she went both ways. But you never know."

"You don't know which?"

"All I know is that she didn't sleep here every night, or she would come back at obscure hours. Whoever she was seeing, though, never came by here."

"Hm." Well that was something new. And a possible suspect or witness that he hadn't yet heard from.

That was all Hobbs had to offer, though, and soon he was back in the hallway consulting his notes as he made his way towards the staircase again.

Sarah Reed, apartment 5D, had been adamant that her neighbor was missing, because for the first time, she hadn't had to complain about the loud music. It turned out she had been right, though, and now he needed to pay her another visit.

"What do you want?" the red-head demanded stiffly after she had jerked the door open and fixed him with a glare.

Apparently the news hadn't reached any further than Hobbs. He was glad.

"I have a few questions regarding the body found in the elevator last night. Can I come in?"

"No," she answered immediately, stepping into the hallway and shutting her door behind her. "You can't."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "That's perfectly fine, Ms. Reed." _And perfectly normal behavior for someone whose neighbor was just murdered,_ he added sarcastically to himself. "When was the last time you saw your neighbor, Margaret Singer?"

"She's dead?" was the instant, and expected, question.

"Yes, Ms. Reed."

"Well that's a relief," she muttered.

If anything, she was eliminating herself by being _too_ suspicious.

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill her?" _Besides you?_

"I wouldn't be surprised if she had a lot of enemies," the woman snapped, whipping out a cigarette and lighting it.

"You know, there's no smoking in this building," he commented, nodding towards the sign at the end of the hallway.

"So?" she said, raising an eyebrow. And then she turned and vanished back into her apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he turned back to his notes. He could hardly question the whole building, so he was going to have to stick to those who had already talked to him, and then deal with any others that came up with connections later in his investigation.

For the moment, that meant talking to her other neighbor, and then he would get to work on this mystery boyfriend. It was the only solid lead he had to go on.

The man who lived on the other side of Margaret's apartment was more cooperative than Sarah Reed, which was a relief.

"Sad," he said simply, shaking his head and turning to look down the hall towards his former neighbor's door. "She was young, y'know?"

"Do you know of anyone that might have something against her? Someone that might want her dead?"

"Well, don't say where you heard it, but Ms. Reed isn't exactly the friendly type. Filed dozens of complaints, most of 'em against Maggie. Music too loud my eye... I never had a problem with it. If she wasn't so damn hung-over all the time she wouldn't have been so bothered by it."

It didn't surprise him that the woman was a drunk. Not in the least.

Still, though, he didn't suspect her. She might have been a miserable neighbor, but there was no way she had the forethought to do something like this. He would keep her on the list of possibilities, but not very high up on it.

No, his answers probably lay elsewhere.

He made his way from apartment to apartment after that, questioning an array of tenants, who were a cast of characters in themselves. He was suddenly feeling very grateful that he barely knew anything about the people who lived in his own building.

Part of him wanted to check by the lab when he climbed into his SUV at 3:30. Maybe they had something new for him by now... he could just swing by and see what they were up to. What Brennan was up to, specifically.

Something made him hesitate, though, and he sighed before instead pulling out his cell phone and ringing Cam.

"Dr. Saroyan," she answered smoothly.

"Anything new?"

"Get right to the point, don't you? No, nothing new."

He leaned back into the headrest with a sigh.

"We're working on it, Booth. Brennan's looking into cause of death, Hodgins is busy with some sort of bug thing on the flesh... we'll have results for you by tomorrow morning."

So this was going to be a working weekend. What with the lack of cases, he'd almost gotten used to having Saturday and Sunday to himself. Somehow, it felt odd to think that he was glad of the fact that he'd be occupied.

"I'll drop by on the way to the victim's workplace, then."

"You do that. I've got to get back to my heap of paperwork from the last case... I was working all day today on this case, and now I've just barely gotten a break and I've got more to do on _past_ cases..."

"You have my sympathy."

"If only I believed that was sincere," she muttered with a sigh. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And then she had hung up, and he tossed the phone in his passenger seat before pulling out of the parking lot. He would go back to his office for a few hours, shuffle through some of his old paperwork, and then get home for the night. There was a baseball game on tonight that he wanted to catch, and it would be nice to share the time with Parker. He could make hot dogs for them for supper.

What Cam had said stuck with him, though, even as he focused on other things.

She was his oldest friend, and she knew him to the core. If someone was to ask who in his life knew him better, he'd say Brennan without a doubt, but Cam... Cam knew him in different ways. She understood his motives, and she could call him out on things. It wasn't the same as the way Brennan tugged at his heart strings, barely knowing how much what she was saying meant to him, or, as it was recently, how much it was hurting him.

Cam, though, was turning a mostly blind-eye. She acknowledged what he was going through, but she didn't comment on it, sensing that he didn't want her to. He was glad of that, but there were times like these when she showed it, and they kicked him like a steel-toed boot to the gut.

Even when most of the people he encountered on a daily basis didn't notice that he wasn't exactly _happy_, Cam saw it. And she understood it. And she even didn't blame him for it, which was probably the part that bothered him most. Because _he _blamed himself for it.

Whose fault was it that Brennan had gone off and gotten married to some other guy? His. Because he'd been too much of a self-centered asshole to realize what he was doing all those years ago. If there was one thing he had learned about Brennan in all those years of partnership, it was that she couldn't be pushed into things she was uncomfortable with. The very last thing he would do was force her into a corner, where she would panic like a trapped animal. And yet, under the pretense of caring, he'd done precisely that.

What sort of an idiot told the woman they loved that because she couldn't commit to a relationship — after he _threw_ the idea at her late at night after a _therapy_ session — he was going to move on and find someone that could love him, because guess what, he didn't think she was _capable_.

Even now, all these years later, he wanted to go jump off a bridge at the thought of what his words that night must have done to her, even while she tried to console him... because everything she had said, everything she had done... that night, she had blamed it all on herself. She had internalized, and come to the very belief that he'd been trying to force her away from, bit by bit, ever since he'd realized how he felt... which was that no one could truly love her for who she was.

God only knew, he loved her for everything that made her _her_. And that included the way she shied away from things and the way she was so clueless about how important she was. They were opportunities for him to teach her who she was to him. They were so very _Brennan-like_ that it was hard to imagine her behaving any differently.

Making her think any differently had been the worst mistake of his life... right next to letting her go to Maluku, and right along with going to Afghanistan himself and coming back with a _girlfriend_.

Why the word _rebound_ hadn't popped into his head at the time, he didn't know.

It was probably to blame for the whole failure _that_ relationship had been. Forcing himself to recover and move on had been about the biggest pig-headed decision of his life. The almost sick satisfaction he had gotten from knowing it was working, and that she regretted turning him down, was like a weight made of his guilt and forged into chains.

He was stuck below the surface, now, drowning and yet unable to die.

Forced to watch the truth of his mistakes on a day-by-day basis.

He envied Jacob Marley. His chains could not have been nearly so heavy as those Booth had wrapped around his heart.

Because she had been hurting, and he'd been the cause of it. Had done it almost on _purpose_ because he felt so hurt by her rejection that night outside the Hoover building.

It only added to things that he had never even considered the possibility of how much what he had said that night had hurt her, and how much better she was handling it, and handling his moving on. Up until that night, in his car, when she had cried her eyes out as the rain crashed down on the windshield.

She said she'd made a mistake.

And in that moment, it had all stopped mattering. She was still Bones. She was still the woman he loved, and yet... he'd tossed that all away. Why the hell did it matter if he was still in a relationship with Hannah? If he had a time machine, the first thing he would do to replace that moment would have been to pull over and kiss her senseless. Tell her breathlessly just how much she meant to him, just how much he would give up to have more with her, and just how much of a mistake _he_ had made.

He did not have a time machine, though.

And he was never going to.

This was reality.

And reality, in all honesty, completely sucked.


	5. Pictures of You

**A/N: Song for this one is Pictures of You, by The Last Goodnight. It's a gorgeous song, so if you haven't heard it, then you really should give it a listen. It's worth it, believe me.**

_Chapter 4: Pictures of You_

_Pictures of you, pictures of me_  
_ Hung upon your wall for the world to see_  
_ Pictures of you, pictures of me_  
_ Remind us all of what we used to be_

_ There is a drug that cures it all_  
_ Blocked by the governmental wall_  
_ We are the scientists inside the lab,_  
_ Just waiting for the call_  
_ This earthquake weather has got me shaking inside_  
_ I'm high up and dry_

_May 26__th__, 2018_

Temperance Brennan had not gone home last night. Sitting in her office in the late hours of the morning, she felt disoriented and somewhat nauseous. It wasn't a sensation she was unfamiliar with, given her long-standing tendency to forget to eat and sleep when she was absorbed in her work... but it wasn't one she had experienced recently, and it threw her off.

She'd pulled the curtains in her office, as well as the blinds on her door, and sat behind her desk in the dim lighting that glowed from the lamp in the corner, uncomfortable in the same clothing she had worn the day before, having slept in them on the couch. Which hadn't gotten any more comfortable over the years.

Still, she'd had the forethought to keep a blanket here, and, normally, a change of clothing. But while the blanket had still been where she'd left it, the clothing had not. It had only taken her a few minutes of confusion to realize that she had, unfortunately, taken them home to wash and forgotten to replace them.

She was tempted to drive home and shower, but she knew that then she'd have a hard time leaving again. And then there was the gym; she could stop by there and get in a quick morning workout before showering. But she only kept her gym clothes there, not a spare work outfit.

It wasn't as if she had planned on staying the night. It was that she had begun the reconstruction when it was already late, and had gotten so engrossed in it that once the time registered, she'd realized it was already too late for her to make a reasonable return. Nicky would already be in bed, and the last thing she wanted to do was show up but not be able to fulfill her promise.

So she made a few calls that went against what she truly wanted, and found that Daisy was all-too-eager to keep an eye on Nick — who was already sleeping anyways — before James got home. As much as she hadn't wanted to disturb the other woman, she could hardly have asked Julie to stay any longer than she already had; the woman already worked overtime. Not that she didn't pay her well, but that was beyond the point. She had a life; she didn't need to be forced into becoming a workaholic just because her employers were.

Working until late in the night, she had finally put down her bottle of Elmer's glue around midnight and made the walk through the empty lab back to her office, where she had found little solace on the cold, worn-down couch.

By morning, her mind was still racing with everything from details about her personal life to possibilities for this latest case, and she felt no more rested than she had when she had shut the light off.

But the skull was reconstructed now, she reminded herself. Progress. That was important.

She called her son at around nine, and apologized for breaking their plans. _Next weekend_, she promised, to which she got only a half-hearted response. Her son was disappointed, and she knew it. It cut her to the quick, and she struggled to keep herself from just leaving work for the rest of the morning, as she worked through paperwork and helped Angela compare trajectories and weapons on the Angelator.

Booth arrived at eleven o'clock, looking well-rested and ready to start the day.

She had been expecting him earlier, but didn't question his oddly-timed arrival when he stepped into her office. He'd picked the exact moment when she had been returning a few new emails, and so had managed to catch her alone.

"Hey," he said, a question in his voice that she wasn't going to pretend to understand.

"What?" she asked, the word coming out clipped and impatient, which hadn't been her intent. It had been a long morning, and she felt like everyone was being cautious around her. Which wasn't a surprise, given that it was clear she was over-tired, but it still didn't stop her from feeling the prickles of annoyance every time someone made note of it.

"Good morning to you, too," he said with a raised eyebrow, before he stepped in all the way and shut the door behind him. He hadn't knocked, she realized, and it set a deeper scowl across her face.

"Do you need something?" she asked again. She'd thought the hint was obvious... _I don't want to be bothered_.

He either didn't get it, or chose to ignore it.

"I thought you might like the latest details on the case," he said, trying to keep his tone light even as his eyes strayed over the couch. Damn it, she'd forgotten to fold up the blanket.

She crossed her arms, daring him to comment. He took the challenge, much to her surprise. In the past years, he had backed off and given her the space she required. Sometimes that had meant not seeing him for days.

What had changed? Or had she missed something else completely?

"Couches aren't good for your back," he said matter-of-factly. "I remember someone telling me that."

_Yeah. Me,_ she thought to herself. _I told you that, Booth. A... long time ago._

"It's none of your business where I sleep," she shot back. It wasn't, either. He shouldn't be asking questions like this. There was a reason she wanted a strict work-level relationship with him. The same reason she knew she couldn't spend time with him at the Diner or after work. The same reason she avoided personal questions from him.

It would feel too much like the old days.

And the old days were over.

So why the hell was he acting like he cared?

He wasn't _supposed_ to care anymore. He was supposed to move on just like she had. That was the deal... that was how things worked. He couldn't change it now.

"I'm allowed to ask, Brennan," he answered mildly, picking up the blanket and beginning to fold it. She almost wanted to pull it from his grasp just to do it herself, but she restrained herself, staying behind the relatively safe barrier of her desk.

Maybe deciding to work this case in the field with him was a bad idea. The past few months had been working well... the division of labor made everything go smoothly. They were solving murders without the complications. She liked that.

It made everything... simpler.

"Besides," he was continuing, "If you're not fit, how am I supposed to take you out to question suspects today?"

She blinked a few times. It was infuriating, how she was so ready to go back to lab work one moment, and the next... all he had to do was say a few words, and she was ready to accept the offer without another thought to the contrary.

She missed field work. Missed it more than she'd thought she would. But this new arrangement _worked_. Didn't it?

At the same time, though... this case was one where she might be more valuable out in the field. She knew some of the potential suspects, after all. She could provide insight.

He had stepped up to her desk without her answering any of his previous statements. Acting as if it didn't matter, he spoke again, this time gentler, with concern etched into the creases on his face.

"Is everything all right?"

Her breath gone for the longest of instants, and she had to focus to get it back in check. Damn him for asking things like that.

_Stop caring,_ she demanded, childishly, in her head. _I don't want you to care about me. You aren't supposed to care about me anymore. Even if I want you to... you aren't _supposed_ to._

"Everything is perfectly fine. I worked late." Exactly. She had worked late. There was no other reason why she hadn't wanted to return home. None at all.

He didn't look like he believed a single word of it. She stood at once, her motions jerky, and swept past him towards the door.

"If you have information to share, than we should compare notes with the entire team. We have new data as well."

His face cleared, as if his last question had never crossed his lips, and he nodded. Business as usual, she thought. For a moment, she almost wondered if she'd imagined the rest of their conversation. But the way Booth hesitated told her otherwise, and she spun on her heel and marched ahead of him, refusing to acknowledge it.

It only took a quick shout up to the platform to get Hodgins, Cam, and Mr. Harper to abandon their work and follow along as she led the way to Angela's office.

The artist glanced up in surprise as she stepped in, and opened her mouth, about to say something that was most likely non-work-related. Brennan cut her off.

"Booth is here to discuss the case. We need to make use of the Angelator to analyze all of our findings together."

Her mouth slowly closing but her frown not erasing, Angela offered a single nod as she pushed herself around her desk, seating herself on it's edge and tapping her stylus pen on the control tablet.

Screens loaded up onto the Angelator, and the last of them had just lit up as the last of the group stepped into the room and gathered around.

Hodgins kept closest to the door, not making eye contact with his wife. She pretended he was not among the group, and addressed them as a whole. Brennan calmly acted as if she noticed nothing was amiss in their gathering, as did the rest of the team. It was common practice by now.

"Okay. So we know that our victim is Margaret Singer, born October 5th, 1992," Angela began. "She was twenty-five years of age at the time of her death, which has been confirmed to have been two days ago, at around eleven o'clock PM." She paused, as if expecting someone to argue. Her eyes washed over them, stopping briefly at Jack, who thankfully didn't break in to notify the group that all of that had been his doing. Satisfied, she went on, "Cause of death was a blow to the back of the head with a blunt object. She was already dead when she was set on fire. Thankfully."

At this point, she turned to Booth.

"Right," he started. "None of the neighbors have realistic motives. Granted, they're a bunch of whack-jobs, but not enough so that I think they're capable of murder. That being said, I've learned that she was involved with someone who never came around to the building. Wherever they met, it was someplace else."

Angela nodded. "She worked at Turner Enterprises," she added, turning to glance briefly at Brennan, who only felt herself stiffen slightly at the words. She already knew that. It did no good to let it worry her. "Where she was a secretary. No other notable career after college, so not much back-story to dig into. Parents are deceased. No siblings."

"Distant relatives?"

"None that I could find. At least not local, if they exist. And I doubt they were in contact. But I'll let you know what I find on the phone records. She was busy... there's a lot to go through."

"Good enough for now," he said, nodding.

Hodgins was already out the door before they had even officially ended the little gathering, and the rest of the team slowly dispersed after him, leaving Brennan standing in the office alone with Angela and Booth.

Not a desirable situation.

"You look tired," Angela stated, as if to prove the point.

"I'm fine, Ange," she snapped, running a hand through her hair forcefully, pulling through the snarls that had worked their way in.

Booth was standing in silence by the door, observing. She wished he would just leave.

"I'm heading over to the Turner building," he stated into the tense silence that followed. It was an invitation.

Her nerves already on edge, she found herself hesitating, feeling like her skin was vibrating as she tried to work out the best way to handle this.

Thoughts spinning and annoyance finally taking over, she simply dropped her hand to slap down on the side of her leg and stepped away from the desk, walking past him. His frown of confusion was all-too-evident in his reflection as she swept past the glass door, but after a moment she heard his footsteps following her.

She shoved her way through the door into her office, and snatched her coat from where she had left it. Turning back, she found him with his back turned, standing a short ways away from the platform outside and staring up at the sky-lights as if they were suddenly fascinating.

With a roll of her eyes, she made her way out again and walked straight past him, heading for the exit doors. This time she didn't have to wait as long to hear the beat of his shoes as he half-jogged to catch up.

Staying silent, she walked purposefully to his vehicle and climbed into the passenger side, buckling up and leaning back to stare out the window when he reached her and jumped into the driver's seat.

Five minutes later, the wheels humming and the radio shut off, he said softly, "I'm glad you came."

And that was it. The extent of their conversation.

She wasn't entirely sure why she _had_ come, to be honest. Logically, it was foolish to mess with a good thing. And the past few months had been a good thing. She had convinced herself of that over and over again, more times than she could count.

Doing this, now, was just tempting things to go haywire and dump her back into an uncomfortable and nearly inescapable limbo. She didn't want to go back to where she had been a few years ago, when the doubts had ruled her mind and her fears had almost made working with him impossible.

No, that was not an option.

But still, she could convince herself that this was the right thing to be doing. For the case, if nothing else. And if there was a killer working for her husband's company... well, she wanted whoever it was caught as soon as possible.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth glanced sideways at his partner, who was stoically staring out the window like her life depended on it. Anyone who didn't know the situation would think he was kidnapping her and she had given up fighting.

He hated it, but there wasn't much he could do to change it. The one attempt he had made had been shot down by her silence, and he knew she had heard it. He'd seen her back stiffen as his words punctuated the air.

He really shouldn't have expected a response, though. Her morning looked like it had been hell. And she had slept at the office, which was never a good sign. She usually only did that when things weren't going well at home, and as far as he knew from what little she told him and what he usually managed to pick up from Angela... at the moment, things were fine. And beyond that, she hated staying away from her son.

So maybe she really had been working late. Even if that were the case, though, it still directly related to things preventing her from wanting to go back. Otherwise, she would have caught herself, rather than letting the job take over.

Brennan was the kind of mother that every kid deserved to have. It wasn't something he had expected, but it had been something that had been equal-parts amazing and sorrowful. The first because she was living a life he'd always hoped for her. The second because he wasn't there, living it with her.

Some days, he wondered if it ever would have worked out. Maybe James had something he didn't. Maybe it would have fallen to pieces with Booth regardless of whether or not they had tried all that time ago.

He shook away the idea, unsure of whether it was making him more depressed, or offering some form of hope. The two were hard to distinguish nowadays.

The familiar Turner building loomed ahead on his right, and he pulled into the full parking lot, sliding into a visitor parking space that had just cleared and feeling grateful to have avoided the walk from the back of the lot.

Brennan climbed out silently, and he followed her as she took her long, confident strides towards the glass doors. They very nearly closed behind her before he reached them, and he huffed as he was forced to half-jogged to get up to her pace.

"Mrs. Turner," the young woman at the front desk said in surprise.

Both of them cringed.

"Dr. Brennan," she corrected. Booth got the feeling she had made this distinction numerous times in the past. Clearly it wasn't working. "Is James in?"

"Taking lunch in his office today," the blonde answered, her eyes roving past Brennan to study Booth. They raked up his form with a raised eyebrow before snapping back to the computer screen. "Is something up? Should I message him?"

"That won't be necessary," Booth interjected, stepping forward to place a hand on the desk. Her hand paused over the keys.

"Are you sure..?"

"It's fine, Nicole," Brennan assured. "We just have something we need to discuss."

"But we might be back down to talk to you," Booth implied. Brennan offered a withering glare before spinning and leading the way to the elevator, catching it before it closed behind a group of men in suits who were disembarking. Several of them greeted her, and she smiled and nodded tightly, visibly relaxing when the doors closed and they were the only ones in the car.

"That was unnecessary," she said suddenly, turning to him after they had moved up several floors.

"What?"

"Freaking her out."

He was no longer surprised that she knew phrases like that. "Just a tactic, Brennan. If she flees before we get back... well, then we know one more piece of the puzzle involves her."

"Nicole wouldn't hurt a fly," Brennan said with a shake of her head.

"And what about Maggie? I can tell you knew her... you haven't said anything about it, though."

"There's nothing to say. She was James' personal secretary. She handled his meeting schedule. I barely spoke to her any more than I did to Nicole, and she always seemed pleasant enough. A little flustered and disorganized, but beyond that... very friendly."

"You can't think of a reason someone might want her out of the way? Is it a well-paying position? A rung on the ladder? Maybe she heard gossip that she shouldn't have? Monitored emails and saw something?"

"Why are you asking me?" she demanded, the color rising in her face. "How would I know?"

"She works for your husband, Brennan. Of course I'm going to ask you these questions. I'm going to ask James the same ones when I talk to him in a minute."

"Booth, I swear to God... if you make this out like it's his fault..."

"I'm doing my job. I'm not going to _coddle_ him. If anything, I'd think you would be demanding that he get equal treatment with any other suspect."

_"Suspect?"_

He wanted to bang his head against the wall.

"Yes, _suspect_. Did you think he wouldn't be? How many years have you been working with me?"

She let out a short sound of irritation from the back of her throat. "James had nothing to do with this. And I'm sure the same goes for everyone else he works with."

"Really? You're sure? I don't see any _evidence_ or _facts_ to support such a definitive statement."

"This, _this_..." she hissed, "Is why I didn't want to come into the field with you."

"Because you were afraid I'd do my job the way I'm supposed to?"

"Because I knew you'd behave like some spited child!"

He almost laughed at that. "Tell you what. We'll do our jobs. The way we do every other case. You stick to your _facts_, and I'll stick to what the evidence gives me. Good?"

"Fine," she snapped.

There were a few tense seconds of silence, and then the elevator settled on the fifteenth floor and the doors opened. This time, he was the first one out, feeling suffocated.

"Linda," Brennan said, passing him by and heading straight for the secretary desk. The woman seated there was young, with long and straight black hair and large glasses framing tiny green eyes. She looked overwhelmed, and it was painfully obvious that she was the rarely-needed replacement.

"Dr. Brennan," the woman said, knocking over a tray of paperclips and looking like she was ready to cry. "Thank God... James has this huge meeting after his lunch, and I can't find any of the emails confirming the time of his guest's arrival... Maggie won't pick up her cell, and no one can tell me where she is..."

"She's dead," Brennan stated matter-of-factly, stopping the woman in her tracks.

If there was ever a reminder that Brennan was out of practice with field work, this was it.

"She's... she's _dead?" _the woman choked out in horror, going completely white.

"Sorry," Booth said, shouldering his way into the conversation. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. I'm handling the investigation. Dr. Brennan is my partner. We need to speak to Mr. Turner immediately... so he's going to have to cancel that appointment."

"I... of course," she said in a strangled voice, shoving her hair behind her ears and seizing her phone. It shook in her hand as she hit the button to send the call straight into her boss's office.

"Sir, your wife is here, and her FBI partner..."

She barely had the time to say "I'll send them in," before the call ended.

Still looking shell-shocked, she waved them towards the large oak doors.

Brennan, looking completely familiar in an environment that was foreign to Booth, pulled the right one open and swept inside, leaving him to catch the heavy door and hurry in after her. It felt like he'd been chasing her all day, and she was never going to give him the chance to catch up.

It was like a running a never-ending marathon.

"Tempe," James said, not getting up from behind his desk. His eyes held the same surprise that had been present in the eyes of both secretaries. Clearly, Brennan did not often drop by unannounced in the middle of the day very often, if ever. "Is something wrong?" His eyes drifted past, landing on Booth with yet more curiosity brimming in them.

He decided to take a page from her book. "Margaret Singer is dead," he said abruptly.

"Maggie?" James said, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Maggie is _dead?" _His eyes cut back to his wife as he asked, "What happened?"

"From what I've concluded so far," Brennan said with a sigh, her arms crossing over her chest, "Blunt force trauma to the back of the cranium. Most likely with some sort of pipe or bat, although she could have been pushed into something, the head being seized and—" she demonstrated on the open air in front of her, seizing an imaginary skull and shoving forward with the weight of her body "—crushing forward to cause the same level of damage. I'm narrowing down the possibilities."

"I just saw her yesterday," he said, shaking his head. "She came in to work like everything was fine... do you have any leads? Was it random? I mean... God, I can't imagine someone wanting to hurt Maggie..."

"Neither can I," Brennan agreed, shooting daggers at Booth.

He ignored them.

"I'll need to ask you and your people a few questions to try and figure out what happened, Mr. Turner."

"James," he said immediately, waving his hand. "You're Tempe's partner. I understand that this is an official investigation... but you don't need to be formal, Agent."

_The minute you stop calling me Agent, I'll believe that._

The man might act all friendly, but Booth could see the hardness in his eyes as he spoke to him. They were not on level ground. They hadn't been since five months ago.

"Right," Booth said firmly. "Let's just get this out of the way. Where were you from ten o'clock to midnight on Thursday night?"

The question surprised him, but not enough to keep him from answering. "I was at home. In bed with my wife." His eyes strayed subconsciously to Brennan, who looked away.

In any other investigation, he would see that as a guilty look. Here though, with her, he took it was something else entirely. Something was bothering her about the fact that James _had _been home. Not because he hadn't been.

He would attempt to deal with that later. With her, and her alone.

"Did Ms. Singer have any enemies? Anyone that might want her job, or who might go after her for personal reasons?"

"She was just a secretary," he said, shaking his head. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill for a job like that... and besides, the woman who will have to replace her is already sitting out there, and Linda isn't capable of doing much more than answering the phone as it is. As for any other reasons..." he shrugged, "I really don't know much about her personal life. I saw her in the mornings and when I was leaving, we exchanged small talk... the most I knew was that she didn't really have any family."

This wasn't getting him anywhere. If James knew anything else, he wasn't sharing.

"I'm going to have to talk to your employees... who would have known her best?"

"The building is pretty much divided into departments on the floors. This floor would be the coworkers Maggie worked with the closest... mostly upper management, organization, emails and event scheduling. I saw her leaving several times with Sue. Sue Travers. She has an office down the hall."

"We'll start there, then," Booth said with a nod.

"Let me know if you need anything," James replied agreeably, and then turned his full attention to Brennan. "Tempe, could I have a word?"

"Of course." She said it lightly, like it was no big deal, but Booth saw the way her back stiffened. His instincts wanted him to stay, but his logic was telling him that he needed to go out in the hallway and wait for her.

Still, he waited for a cue from her before he budged. And when her eyes landed on his with the demand already set in them, he simply nodded and turned to walk out.

He resisted the urge to put his ear to the door once it shut behind him, and smiled politely at the secretary, shoving his hands in his pockets and pacing the open space the elevators opened into, studying the pictures hanging on the walls.

They were all business-related, but Brennan had managed to work her way into several of them, where she was featured at James' side in the middle of group photos from company picnics and open events.

He remembered, even though he tried not to, the days when he used to have pictures like this, of Jeffersonian events, hanging on his walls. Pictures where the two of them were featured together, in the middle, where they belonged. The center that was no longer holding. The team that wasn't quite the same anymore.

As he scanned the others, he noticed her decided absence in the last of them with a raised eyebrow. Yet another question to ask when and if he got the change. Not that she'd answer, but it was worth a shot.

Something was clearly wrong.

He found Maggie in the last one, standing a few rows behind her boss, surrounded by other smiling, cheerful faces. He logged the ones around her into memory, knowing that there was every chance he'd find them down the hall in the other offices once he got down to the questioning. It would be useful to have something to go off of.

Brennan emerged, alone, after only a few minutes.

Her face unreadable, she reached him and crossed her arms, challenging him to ask the question that was burning on his tongue.

Fighting it back, he said instead, "Shall we?" and gestured to the hallway.

Nodding and looking decidedly relieved - if not a bit surprised - she again led the way.

Much like the open lobby they'd first stepped into, the hallway led out into a wide room framed by a rounded wall of windows that made it glow. Cubicles led off to the left, and four glass-walled offices took up the right.

It was immediately obvious that this was not an area Brennan was familiar with. She took in their new surroundings with him, and then proceeded slowly towards the offices, leaning forward to read the name plates before they got there.

The one farthest from the windows was marked _Sue Travers_. They both saw it at the same time, and almost walked into each other as they both headed for the door. Looking out the window self-consciously, he let her go ahead of him. When she knocked on the door, he held up his badge and watched her eyes round out like saucers.

"Come in," she said quickly, and they stepped into the smaller room. "Can I... can I help you with something?" she asked, eyes darting back and forth between them. "Dr. Brennan, what's going on?"

Clearly Brennan was well-known in the company, because he could tell that Brennan didn't recognize the woman. Not that _that_ meant anything.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news," Booth started.

Brennan cut in, "We understand you were close friends with Maggie, the secretary?"

"I... yes, I am."

"She's dead," Booth said as carefully as he could, knowing that if he didn't say it first, Brennan most certainly would. "We're looking into her death."

"Oh my God," Sue said, hand flying up to her mouth. "She's really..? Oh _God_."

"Did you suspect something?" Booth asked, latching on to that reaction.

"We usually get coffee at the stand on the corner together before we go into work. We've been out a few times after work, too. I... I looked after her plants when she took a vacation once. Whenever she was sick or something came up suddenly, she would call me and let me know. When she didn't come in this morning... I was worried."

"You didn't mention it to anyone?"

"I didn't think there was a need... I just thought that maybe she didn't remember to call me, or she didn't feel well enough. And when I saw Linda this morning, I thought she must have called in sick."

Booth and Brennan turned to look at each other at the same moment. The years might have spanned between them, but that didn't mean some things had to change. And they had both heard something in that last statement.

"You're saying that Linda was already here this morning?" Booth clarified, leaning forward over the desk.

"Y-yes. Kevin and Joel were sorting out some paperwork with her, so I didn't get the chance to ask if she knew where Maggie was."

Well, he had a few new questions for James, that was for sure.

"Is there anything else you might be able to tell us? Do you know who she was seeing?"

"Wait," Sue said, raising a ring-covered hand, her fingers trembling. "FBI... you... Maggie wasn't _murdered?"_

"The investigation is a homicide," Brennan tossed in helpfully with a nod of her head.

"Oh God. Oh _God," _the woman choked out, grabbing for a drawer on her desk and yanking out a packet of tissues.

"I always... always thought that something bad was going to happen... I _told _her..."

"Told her what?"

The woman leaned forward. "Patrick Hogan," she said, emphasizing each syllable of the name. "He works over there," she pointed past them through the glass wall towards the cubicles. "He was stalking her... sending her letters and showing up at places she liked to go to... it creeped her out, and it creeped me out, but she never _did_ anything about it. She thought it was harmless... thought he'd give up if she told him she wasn't interested enough times."

"You think he may have killed her?"

"I don't know," the woman said, sniffing loudly and blowing her nose. "I honestly don't. But... but that's the first thing I think of."

"What about his other question?" Brennan asked. "Do you know if she was seeing anyone?"

"Couldn't say," Sue answered too quickly, eyes flicking back and forth between them as if she couldn't decide which one she was more comfortable lying to. She settled on Booth, although she looked all the more panicked about it.

Brennan suspected nothing from the expression he saw on her face, and so he decided to go with his gut.

"Thank you for your help, Ms. Travers," he said. "Very sorry for your loss."

She nodded, again, too quickly, and she looked desperately relieved when they finally walked out. That was one woman who should never attempt to play poker.

Sue Travers knew something that she didn't want to say. No matter, though. He'd find out regardless. And if not... well, he'd go back to her. By the looks of it, she'd spill the moment he got her in the interrogation room; maybe even on the way over. But he'd prefer to avoid the hassle, and he had more people here to question before he finished up.

"So we're going to question this Patrick, right?"

"Yep. But first, we're going to question everyone else."

She looked frustrated. "Why? There's a good chance he did it, isn't there?"

"You know, Brennan, you're awfully eager to close this case. What happened to the scientist I used to know, who refused to believe anything until all the tests came back in the lab?"

She looked like she wanted to punch him, but clearly thought better of it, turning away and remaining silent as they walked down the row of cubicles.

Mostly unfazed, Booth looked into each as they passed, and finally found the one occupied by Mr. Hogan. Continuing past it, he stepped into the diagonally across the alleyway. And office, like this, gossip was guaranteed to fly. And judging from the brilliantly red-haired lady sitting at the computer engaged in what appeared to be a juicy conversation with another employee on her phone – which he suspected was against company policy – he'd picked correctly.

"Ms. Davis?" he said, reading off the nameplate on the outer edge.

Carol Davis jumped in her seat and slammed the phone down, looking guilty as hell.

And then her eyes went huge and she started stammering, having noticed Brennan standing behind him.

"I was just, I don't... my break is technically..."

"It's alright, we aren't here to get you fired," he said, grinning good-naturedly. The woman deflated in her rolling chair, staring up at him and glancing back to Brennan as if she obviously didn't believe that.

"We have a few questions about your former coworker, Maggie Singer," Brennan said. Right to business, as always. He suspected she had no clue why the woman had panicked upon seeing her. As usual, her status as anything but anthropologist never registered. All these years, and still the people asking for her autograph when they recognized her as the author left her flustered and out of her element. Being the wife of the boss was yet another of these roles that didn't register with her.

"Former... what?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, stepping in. "Margaret Singer was found dead in her apartment building late last night."

"The bitch is _dead?"_

Well, here was someone who apparently didn't think Maggie had been perfectly friendly.

"Did you have something against her?" Brennan said, a gleam in her eye that was completely misplaced.

A few years of slow field work and five months of nothing at all... and this was the result. Square one.

"No, I just didn't like her," Ms. Davis said, giving Brennan a strange look and turning back to Booth to explain more fully, "She and I didn't agree on the way things were done. See, the email system was flawed. I suggested ways to fix it, and she backlogged me, blocked me from talking to Mr. Turner about it, and then turned him away from the idea before I could say anything to him personally."

"What was wrong with the system, exactly?"

She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "She sent emails out in batches. Last name first, which was totally wrong. I was always the last to know about company events and meetings. I missed two important meetings because she was too slow in sending out the last batch."

"And you resented her for it?"

"It wouldn't have been a problem if she had just fixed it. Or at least stopped taking those ridiculously long lunch breaks and dazing off at her desk. Half the time she wasn't even _there_. God knows where she took off too, but Mr. Turner should have fired her ages ago." As if she had just realized who she was talking to, her attention swung back to Brennan. "No offence. I mean... if anything, he's too nice."

Brennan looked like she didn't understand why she would be offended in the first place, and simply nodded, glancing at Booth as if he was about to explain. He clamped his mouth shut and turned back to Ms. Davis.

"Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill her?"

"No clue."

He put on his best smile and leaned over the desk. "Office building like this... I know there's gossip going around. You must have heard something... I'm not stupid."

Glancing self-consciously at Brennan, Carol Davis looked like she really wanted to be someplace else.

"Alright. We aren't supposed to talk about our coworkers. And we aren't supposed to date them."

"Dr. Brennan isn't going to get you fired, if you're worried about that."

"Don't speak for me, Booth," she broke in. "If she was doing something to jeopardize the company, I'm hardly going to keep my mouth shut."

He rolled his eyes, even though his back was to her. "Then you can _leave_, if it makes Ms. Davis more comfortable."

Now he turned to her, and saw the color rise in her cheeks and her eyes flash dangerously. Pursing her lips and raising her hands up to her hips, she looked ready for a fight.

"You have no—"

"I have every right, Brennan." He cut her off before she could even get started. "Either stay or go. But we are investigating a murder here, not intimidating people who are trying to help us."

Still fuming, she crossed her arms and set her jaw. But she was silent, and he took that as an answer, turning his full attention back to the other woman.

"Ms. Davis?" he enquired politely.

"I... there was a lot of talk a while back about her and Pat hooking up," she said, her voice low, "He started it, though, and then I heard in the break room that he had pictures of her that she didn't know about, and he was following her home after work. Creepy, right?"

"Yes, very," Booth said, nodding encouragingly.

"So I, uh... went in his cubicle. When he was on break. And I found his camera."

"And what did you find?"

"Pictures of her. At her building, in her car... all over the place. It freaked me out."

"What did you do?"

"I put it back and I stayed away from him. I don't know what he saw in her, but I sure as hell didn't want him seeing it in me."

"You didn't report him to his superiors?"

"Like I said," she glanced at Brennan, "Mr. Turner doesn't really fire people very often. He gets... angry a lot. Yells at meeting and such. But he doesn't like firing anyone. Or uh... looking into things. It would have gone to the lawyers, and none of us like them very much."

"And why is that?" he asked quickly, ignoring the angry glare and the huff that came from Brennan. He didn't like the lawyers either, but they were _close family friends_. He wouldn't admit it to her, of course, but he'd be glad if they were involved. Then he wouldn't have to deal with them anymore... always coming by the lab as if James needed a messenger service when he could just as easily call. He'd heard the older one, the one whose name he knew – Kevin – talking to her and Angela in the lab recently, on one of his rare visits, about planning a vacation to get away for a while. _I'll just leave the flyer... I have a friend who can get you and James a great deal. Or you and your husband, Ms. Montenegro._

"Too nosey. They're in everyone's business. It's sort of a policy around here, among us... we keep them out of all of our business, even if we don't like some of the people we're protecting."

Now she looked like she really wished Brennan wasn't listening, but he was glad of the information.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Do you know who she was really seeing?"

"I'm sorry, but I have no clue. If she was seeing someone, though, I'd guess it wasn't something she wanted found out."

"And why is that?"

"Because news spreads quick around here. It's hard to keep anything a secret, and if I didn't know... well, then she was doing a really good job of hiding it."

When they had stepped back out of the cubicle, Brennan seized his sleeve firmly and half-dragged him down the hall towards a little alcove, shoving him in. He'd almost forgotten how strong she was.

"What was that?" she spat at him, her voice low and deadly.

"That was me getting vital information for our investigation," he answered, his tone just as heated. If she wanted some sort of apology... well, she wasn't getting it.

"By ordering me around? We haven't worked together in the field in a long time, but I remember the way it was when we did, and this was _not_ it. Don't even pretend like I'm some helpless scientist out in the world for the first time. This is my case every bit as much as it is yours."

"And this building we're in just happens to be your family business, Brennan," she shot back. "So don't act like that doesn't play a big part in this. Have you forgotten how to stay objective? Have we ever used honest information from a witness against them when they weren't involved in the crime? Has threatening people that are cooperating ever done us any good?"

By now, she had realized her argument was failing.

"That's still no excuse," she tried, her anger not yet faded enough for her to let it go. "I can't just let you make promises for me."

"Brennan." His tone caught her attention, and some of the flame in her eyes died as he looked at her seriously. "I understand that this is more personal than usual, okay? I get that you're on edge, and that there's probably a lot more to that than you want to share with me. I'm okay with that. But we need to find out the truth here, and I'm tying to do that the only way I know how."

At a loss for words to argue against that, she opened her mouth and then closed it again, her brows knitting together in mild frustration before she gave a somewhat-sheepish nod.

"Thank you," he said with a grateful sigh. "Now, how about you bring back out that partner I used to love working with, and we'll crack this case wide open."

That got a smile, but it only flickered there for the briefest of instants before it vanished again. God, when was the last time he'd actually had her laughing and joking with him? Was it really years ago? It felt like it had been another lifetime, or maybe just yesterday. The memories swirled in and out of focus, timeless even as he dated each and every one of them, recognized the case they went with.

"Booth?"

He startled slightly, and then stepped out of the alcove, realizing that she'd moved already and was waiting for him to follow, a bemused look on her face.

"Sorry," he said quickly, taking the lead away from her and bringing them to another random office. He didn't have time the time or inclination to talk to every person in this building, so choosing randomly was going to have to work for him.

He got right to the still unanswered question once he'd introduced himself to the balding man whose name was Elliot Beal, and explained why he was there.

"Do you know if Ms. Singer was seeing anyone?"

And luck was with him, because he had picked the right cubicle.

"A married man," Elliot said at once. "Don't know who, or how they met, but I'd bet anything that he's married."

Finally, progress. "Why?"

"She took long lunch breaks, came back late, and never in someone else's car. Always her own. Never marked a date on her calendar like all these other women do when they're seeing someone, never mentioned having a boyfriend but never answered no when someone brought it up in conversation. You have to understand, I was married twice. I can see the signs, even if it's from the other end."

"My sympathies," Booth said with a nod. "But how did you know about her car?"

He flushed slightly. "I wasn't stalking her, Agent Booth. Far from it. I was merely listening in on one of my coworkers."

"Patrick Hogan," Booth supplied for him.

"I... yeah. How did you know?"

"We've talked to some people. But what you're saying is that Hogan knew she was seeing a married guy as well?"

"I think he suspected. All I heard was him talking to someone else in the office about it... telling them just what I told you about her always driving herself."

"Alright, that's all I need right now. Thank you, Mr. Beal."

"Anything to help," he said. _And anything to avoid work_, Booth added silently, noting the win count on the solitaire game on the man's computer screen before he and Brennan stepped out.

"Now do we question Hogan?" she asked.

"Yes. Now we see just how much he knows."

"You don't think he killed her?" She actually sounded disappointed.

"Just a gut feeling, but no, I don't think he did. I think he might have seen a lot more than he bargained for, though. And he might even know the identity of our mystery man. _That_ is where we find our real killer."

"Because it's always the spouse."

"Almost always, Brennan. Almost always. That, or the jealous wife," he added.

"Maybe Maggie just liked her privacy, though," she tossed in. "Working with these people, I can hardly blame her."

"Unlikely," he said. They were at the right cubicle, and whatever retort she might have come up with vanished as he knocked on the outer wall, holding up his badge.

"You're here because of Maggie," the man said without prelude.

"Well, I see you already know. Mind explaining how you found out, Mr. Hogan?"

"I was in love with Maggie," he started, and Booth knew at once that this was only going to go downhill. "She was wonderful, and bright... she could have had a better job, a family..."

"Mr. Hogan, did Ms. Singer ever show any interest in you?" Might as well cut the stalker-speech as short as possible.

He sniffed, lifting his nose up slightly, "She was playing hard to get."

"Yeah, they always are," he muttered. "Do you realize that you're a suspect in the investigation of her death?"

"I figured. No one around here understands. They're like a pack of vultures. Of course they sent you after me."

"Between you and me," Booth said, trying a different tactic, "I know you had nothing to do with this." For one, the floor was littered with tissues. The man had been crying all morning over his lost love. His eyes were still rimmed with red. He looked like a complete disaster.

"You do?" he said, amazement showing across his features.

"Yeah, I do. And I know that, because you're innocent, you're going to give me your camera and pull up your pictures that you have saved on that computer for me to look through."

"I don't—" his eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.

"You don't think I should believe you're innocent?" Booth asked. He had thought that would do the trick, but the man was shaking his head.

"No, I'd rather not."

"I could get your boss to give us access to your computer."

"There's nothing on there," he said at once. He was speaking the truth, too.

"And your camera?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have a camera."

Damn him, this man was going to make this difficult.

"Alright then. Why don't you tell me what you know about the affair Maggie was participating in. Must have made you mad, huh?"

"I didn't know about any affair," he argued back. "And she wouldn't have done that to me!"

And that was the exact moment that the last two people Booth wanted to see interrupted.

"Temperance. Agent Booth. Is there a problem here?" Kevin asked, his tone too innocently sweet. It immediately hit the wrong nerve. There was something about the way the man talked that always made Booth want to punch him.

"Kevin," Brennan said, clearly surprised. "Did James tell you we were here?"

"No, he conveniently left that out. We just heard a disruption as we were passing through." Joel this time. The younger of the two half-brothers. Equally as arrogant and obnoxious as his brother.

"Do you require legal assistance?" Kevin asked the flustered Hogan.

"I would hope he wouldn't," Joel said before anyone else could answer the first question. "That would mean our clients were being interrogated. I can imagine a number of ways that would be against what our firm provides this company."

"Your boss gave us every right to question his employees," Booth said, a warning in his tone.

"I'm sure James did. Like I said, we were just passing through. It would be negligent to ignore a situation that we clearly might need to play a part in. Are you arresting our client?" Kevin asked, gesturing to Hogan, who looked stricken at the very idea.

"No," Booth answered, his jaw setting and his fists clenching. Brennan was just standing by, looking unsure of which side she belonged on. He tried not to remind himself that there was a time, long ago, when she would have been with him no matter what.

"Then I think it's time you leave. Temperance, I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's alright," she answered. "You're just doing your jobs."

Booth seethed silently, hating the way she addressed them like they weren't the enemy here. Like they were just good people in a bad situation.

"We're done here anyways," Booth said firmly, shouldering his way past them and standing portentously close once he was in the hallway with them, a silent threat that said _this isn't over_.

"Of course you are," Joel said, smirking with a little scoffing noise in the back of his throat.

Resisting the urge to strangle the man, Booth stepped back and looked to Brennan to go past him before he followed down the hallway and out to the elevator. They would be back, of that he was sure. And if necessary, he'd bring a warrant.

**Reviews bring me happiness. Lots of happiness... so I don't mind shamelessly asking for them ;)**


	6. Fix You

**A/N: So sorry for the delay in my updating. I'm afraid that I stall in putting up chapters because I have a hard time with the song selection, haha. It will get easier later on when I reach the chapters that I already have fitting songs ready for. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Song is Fix You by Coldplay. **

_Chapter 5: Fix You_

_When you try your best but you don't succeed_  
_ When you get what you want but not what you need_  
_ When you feel so tired but you can't sleep_  
_ Stuck in reverse_

_ And the tears come streaming down your face_  
_ When you lose something you can't replace_  
_ When you love someone but it goes to waste_  
_ Could it be worse?_

_ Lights will guide you home_  
_ And ignite your bones_  
_ And I will try to fix you_

_May 26__th__, 2018_

Brennan paced across her office, glancing towards the door again. She had called Booth ten minutes ago, and was waiting for his arrival. It was already late, nearing five o'clock, and she very much wanted to go home at some point tonight. Her son was waiting.

But it wasn't like she could leave now, when there was new evidence and the case was starting to break open.

When she had spoken with him on the phone, he had been over at the apartment building again. Forensics had finally swept the victim's apartment, and had apparently found evidence of blackmail. Booth was going to share the details with her and the rest of the team upon his arrival.

She had been calling him, though, with news of her own.

While Angela was still searching the financials and the phone and email records, Cam and Hodgins had gotten a few breakthroughs.

Stomach contents had come back to show that the woman hadn't eaten much the night she was killed, but had ingested a small amount of something, which Cam had explained came the closest in composition to pie, shortly before her death. With that information in hand, Hodgins had identified the fabric threads and other particulates from the body as being from newly reupholstered seating. Most likely a restaurant booth.

What with the Royal Diner only a ten minute drive from the woman's apartment and the other evidence that she had been in a taxi cab recently as well, Brennan had made the connection. The Diner had just been renovated with all knew tables and booths... it wasn't an unreasonable leap to make.

And it was where they were going as soon as he arrived. Maybe a waitress had seen something.

Her first thought had been that maybe _she_ had seen something. She went there multiple times a week, either with Angela or her son, and had dropped by earlier that very afternoon to pick up a coffee, and had ended up running into one of her old grad students. She'd sat there for a while, catching up, but she hadn't stayed long. And she didn't remember seeing Maggie there at all.

The thought, though, was rather chilling. What if she had seen her, and spoken to her? What if she had left sooner, or later, and had survived the night?

Some part of Brennan still thought this had been random, after all. Even after talking to the other employees today, she couldn't see any of them killing the woman. Even the stalker, who had clearly been in love with her, and who was obviously delusional.

Still, her thoughts strayed to earlier, to things that weren't case related at all.

_"Nick was terribly disappointed that you didn't come back last night. Did it occur to you to call? Or were you too busy?" The last part was sarcasm that even she could pick up on._

_ "I lost track of time," she snapped. "And it's not like you were home either. You worked late; I had to call Daisy, even though I didn't want to."_

_ "You could have just asked Julie to stay late, but you didn't."_

_ "She has a life of her own, James. She didn't deserve that."_

_ "She gets paid more than she should already, which is thanks to you. She'd just be paying us back by doing something she should be prepared to do anyways. It's in the job description."_

_ "She gets paid exactly as much as she needs to in order to get by," Brennan snapped back. It was an old argument. James had grown up wealthy; he didn't understand why the help should get paid extra. Didn't understand why Julie should be treated with respect and kindness. He'd had multiple nannies himself as a child, as well as maids cleaning up after him._

_ He just couldn't comprehend what it was to live differently than that. He didn't understand, never had, just what it meant to be forced to clean and do chores with no pay at all, nothing but the right to exist under a roof. She'd had to clean because she should be grateful for their kindness. She had to do what she was told, like the help. _

_ And when she did something wrong, she paid the price._

_ As far as she was concerned, doing everything she could to help Julie pay her way through school without being overwhelmingly generous – even though she had wanted to just go all for it to begin with – was just a way to give back. Right a wrong she had been dealt. _

_ There was everything right about that, and James still couldn't see it._

_ Maybe it was because she had never told him all of it. The car trunk, the abuse... she had glazed it over when the time had come to explain things. And since then... she'd just never felt the need to talk about it. _

_ "If you don't come home tonight, I'm going to stop covering for you. He's starting to think that you don't care enough to come back, and I'm tired of lying to him."_

_ "How dare you!" she said, her throat tightening. "I love Nick. I would do anything for him, and he knows that. He understands how important my job is."_

_ "He's four, Tempe!" he roared back. "He's four years old, and all he sees is that Mom can't meet the promises she makes. Ever."_

_ Unbidden, tears sprang up in her eyes. "Someone here in your building was murdered. Your own secretary. You don't find that important? You don't think that if I was just doing paperwork I wouldn't have come home early? We are digging through evidence. How many years have we been married? Don't you know that the first day of a case is almost always the busiest? I felt _terrible_ that I couldn't make it home in time for our son."_

_ "And I'm sure you've felt terrible every other time as well. I just wish you'd stop working these murders, and come home."_

_ "You know I can't do that," she said helplessly, throwing her hands up and shaking her head. "I wouldn't ask you to leave all this behind, so how can you ask that of me?"_

_ "Because my job pays the bills," he shot back. The words were like a slap in the face._

_ "I contribute equally in this—"_

_ "With your books, yes. But let's be honest. Anthropology isn't bringing in anything for us. It's keeping you busy. Away from our son. Not doing anything good. And when you are home, you're either exhausted or you're busy writing."_

_ "I'm not leaving the Jeffersonian," she said, her voice deadly. "No matter what you say. And I spend every moment possible with Nick. Don't you dare challenge that. I'm getting back to work. I'll see you at home."_

_ She stormed out of the office, and didn't look back, putting on a warning face as she reached Booth, praying that he wouldn't dare ask her to recount the conversation. She didn't want another fight. Not with him, not today._

"Brennan?" She turned towards the door. Angela, not Booth. She tensed at once, fearing another conversation like the one they'd had yesterday. "Booth's here; we're gathering in my office again," she said, though, and Brennan relaxed and quickly strode out of her office. Both women entered the other office just behind Hodgins, who quickly shuffled aside and moved to stand in the corner next to Mr. Harper.

Booth was already there, and he offered her a smile as their eyes met. She looked away.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Ange said, cutting through the tension. "Cam?"

"Okay," Cam said with a nod, addressing Booth more so than the rest of them. "Stomach contents showed a small amount of pie, consumed shortly before death. Particulates—" she turned towards Hodgins, giving the credit, "—showed that she was in both a newly refurbished restaurant and the back of a cab."

"Time line offers an area of likely targets," Brennan cut in, pointing to a map that Angela had pulled up on the screen. The artist tapped a key, and a circle expanded from the apartment building, encompassing the blocks around it. Red dots lit up and flashed; about ten of them.

"These are the most likely places where she might have been before she was killed," Angela tossed in. I'm not sure about the renovations, but I know for certain that these three..." three dots changed colors, "Were recently redone."

"That's the Royal Diner," Booth pointed out obviously, looking at the dot closest to the victim's apartment building.

"Yes. Which is why I think it's the first place we should check out," Brennan said simply.

"Because we're familiar with it?"

"Because it's the closest of the three," Brennan corrected, refusing to acknowledge that other reason.

He looked thoughtful, as if he didn't fully believe her, but he nodded and turned his attention back to the screen.

"What about the financials and the phone records?"

"I'm still working on it, G-man," Angela said apologetically. "The fact that I haven't found anything useful yet, though, is a sign that we aren't _going_ to. What do you have for us, though?"

"Blackmail. Which only confirms my theory that she was involved in an affair."

"Do you have the letter for me?" Angela asked, cocking her hip and raising her eyebrow.

"Ah, no. Sorry. The FBI is going over it... I'll have them send it to you, though. You'll probably find something that they missed."

"Probably? Hmph. I guess I'll take what little compliments I can get. What did it say, though?"

He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and unfurled it, reading off, "I know what you're doing. Unless you want everyone else to know as well, you will get ten thousand dollars and call the following number for more information."

"And the number?" Brennan asked.

"Not in service. Here," he handed the paper over to Angela. "Maybe you can do more. The techies are working on it, but you'll be faster, and you come to me with your results. I like that."

She grinned. "You bet you do. I'll get on it... it'll give me something to do other than stare at my scans trying to see something that isn't there. You know that woman didn't make _one_ call that I can find that wasn't within the company? And all of them were short. Nothing suspicious that can't be explained by her work."

"Well hidden affair. Like everyone's been saying."

"It says nothing about an affair in that letter," Brennan noted.

"Yeah well, it didn't need to. She would have known exactly what it meant."

"But the letter doesn't even make _sense_. Anyone who knew about the affair would also know that she didn't have ten thousand dollars."

"Maybe she had a nest egg," Booth reasoned.

"I don't know what that means," she said, her brows creasing together. "But it doesn't matter, because where she was living, and her job as a secretary... everyone is paid well at James' company, but a secretary... not well enough to be able to dole out ten thousand dollars to pay for a cover-up."

"Well what do you suggest that means, then?" he said, his tone changing. She didn't like the way it sounded like he assumed she was wrong.

"That there's more to this than you're noticing."

"Fine then, you know what... I'll ask Sweets. I'm sure he'll have an opinion on it."

She opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again, fuming. The years had not changed her view on psychology. They didn't need a profiler, they needed hard evidence. But she couldn't exactly stop Booth from pursuing whatever lead he wanted to.

"Fine. But while you're doing that, we'll be finding out the truth."

He stared at her for a long moment, as if he was trying to figure out why they were arguing. In all honesty, she had no clue either. But she wasn't about to say that.

"We expect that blackmail letter here by Monday."

"Really? Not tomorrow?"

"No. Not tomorrow. I am not working on Sunday. I'm spending the day with my son."

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and left the room, feeling like she'd very much like to go to the gym and work out some of her frustration. The most annoying part, though, was that she couldn't even place where the frustration was _coming_ from. She had a feeling it didn't even have to do anything with Booth at all.

"Hey!" he called after her, and she stopped short, more from surprise than anything else. He caught up, offering a hesitant smile. "I thought we were going to go check out the Diner?"

"Oh," she said sheepishly. "Right. I'll grab my coat."

His eyes bore into her back as she fetched it from her office, but she ignored it.

By the time they were in the car, most of her tension had drained away. She didn't even know why it was so easy to get angry with him, just that it was, and that she wished it wasn't.

They moved automatically to their old booth, sliding in opposite each other. The familiarity didn't escape her, and she struggled to remember the last time they'd been here together. Had it really been five months ago, before the... before things had changed again?

A waitress, one she recognized from her regular visits here with other people, bustled over, smiling warmly at them. "I haven't seen the both of you in here in ages, my dears," she said kindly. "Can I get you the usual?"

They'd had a usual, hadn't they?

"Yes, that would be good," Booth answered for the both of them. "Unless you'd like some pie?" he asked lightly, turning to her.

Her breath vanished again, for the briefest of instants, and then she mechanically shook her head. "I don't... like my fruits cooked," she said. The words almost sounded foreign. Like someone else had spoken them a long time ago, someone she used to know but had long since forgotten.

He was smiling at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way she recognized, and she turned to stare out the window, hoping that he'd stop reminding her of things she didn't want to remember – couldn't remember.

Not anymore.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Sitting here, it was bringing things back that Booth wasn't sure he was ready to deal with. The last time he had been here, with her, had been five months ago. She'd been sitting across from him, right where she was now, the light glinting off of her hair and turning it that gorgeous auburn. It had also amplified the wedding ring she wore on her hand.

The silence had been deafening.

_"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, and he glanced up in surprise, his fingers breaking their pattern off from where they'd been playing with the salt shaker. It clattered on the table, and he caught it unsteadily and set it carefully back where it belonged against the window ledge._

_ "Nothing, Brennan."_

_ For some reason, the use of her last name still stung her. He saw it every time he said it, and yet he didn't stop using it. Every time he went to address her, there was still that nagging moment where he just wanted to slip into the days of old and say her nickname. Replacing it seemed easier than erasing it, and if that was a challenge for her... well, she was going to have to get used to it eventually. It had been a long time, and it was only going to get longer._

_ "I wish you'd stop thinking about it," she said, and he knew that she wasn't referring to what he'd just been thinking about at all. Rather, she was referring to the sling her arm was in._

_ "I wasn't." It was only a half lie. _

_ She sighed, and then said tersely, "I'm not going to change my mind."_

_ "I don't want you to. I told you that."_

_ "But you were lying," she snapped. "I could tell. And you're still lying."_

_ "Why, Brennan? Huh? Because you _want_ me to be lying?"_

_ She glared, her jaw setting and her eyes narrowing. He had just started something up that had been brewing for a long time. There was no way out of this now, and he knew it._

_ "Because I know you well enough after twelve years of partnership. I'm sorry if this situation doesn't meet your expectations, but you're going to have to get over it. And I would appreciate if you stopped lying in the process."_

_ "I'm the one that suggested it in the first place!" he practically shouted, drawing the attention of their fellow diners. He lowered his voice, ducking his head down in the booth to stare at her seriously. "I said that I didn't want you risking your life, and I meant it. Now you think I'm... what? Upset, because you did what I asked?"_

_ "No. I think you're still trying to make things work. I'm not an idiot, Booth. We barely come here anymore."_

_ He couldn't restrain the humorless laugh that escaped his lips. "Yeah, and that's because _I'm_ the one that started pulling away, is it?"_

_ "I got married," she hissed. "I got married to a man that I fell in love with, who actually wanted me no matter my flaws, even though I turned him down three times first."_

_ He didn't miss the obvious implication there. It was like a knife jabbed into his gut. One more wound to bear. _

_ "James is great. I got the memo several thousand times, _Brennan_. I'm glad you're happy. But you're the one that wanted to keep this partnership intact. You're the one that fought for it, and I was happy to oblige. I _like_ working with you. And I thought you liked working with me."_

_ "I do. I always have, and we both know that is _not_ what this is about."_

_ "Really? Because I'd sure as hell like to know what you think this is about."_

_ Her eyes blazed. "This is about you still trying to stake your claim. All protective alpha-male, thinking I'm some sort of obligation."_

_ He was silent for a long moment, his emotions spinning. _

_ "You think I'm here because you're an _obligation_ to me?" he asked, his voice a shade of calm that he definitely was not feeling at that moment._

_ She only hesitated for the briefest of seconds before she raising her head defiantly. "Yes."_

_ "Would it change your mind if I took off right now, and you never had to see me again? Because if that's what you want, if you want to cut me out of your life forever, then _fine_. I'll go."_

_ The briefest flash of fear across her features told him all he needed to know, but her words spoke only to the contrary. "If you want to leave, then leave."_

_ "I'm not going anywhere. But don't fool yourself into thinking that I'm here just for you. I'm here for me, for my son, for the rest of the team. And if this is going to work, if we're going to stay _partners_, then things are going to have to change." _

_ Again. It was like his life was a never-ending line of changes that only got him further from where he wanted to be the most._

_ "Fine."_

And that was why he'd accepted her terms of work-only to the extreme. That was why they had never set foot in the Diner together in the past five months. That was why she had stopped joining him for field work beyond the occasional cursory examination of the body at the scene.

That was why he was still confused about why she was seemingly willing to go out with him to question suspects. Was it only because this related to James' work, or was it something else entirely?

Glancing across at her, he saw she was still staring out the window. Her left arm was subconsciously rubbing up and down her upper right one. She hadn't forgotten the last time they had been here, either. Whether she was willing to admit it or not.

The waitress returned, putting her salad in front of her and his burger and fries in front of him.

"Let me know when you're ready for your pie," she said with a wink, turning to walk away again.

"Miss?" Booth said, and she looked back.

"Something else you need?"

"Actually no, I just have a few questions." He discreetly showed his badge, and got an unusual reaction. The woman beamed.

"I just _knew_ it... all these years, and I knew it. I told Nita. I told her you must by the real Andy... we recognized you years ago," she added, turning to smile at Brennan. "So we always suspected, but this is great. What happened to that series, though? I was so sad to see it end..."

"I moved on," Brennan answered tartly.

"We're here on an investigation," Booth explained, drawing the attention back to himself. "Do you recognize this woman?" he pulled out a picture and held it up for her.

The woman's eyes went wide. "Corner table," she said, thumbing over her shoulder towards it. "She was a new regular... cream but no sugar, apple pie, hold the whipped cream. She was just in here... I don't know, a few days ago. Has she _done_ something?" She sounded like she wouldn't believe it if Booth told her she had.

"No, she hasn't, miss. I'm afraid she was murdered two nights ago."

"Murdered? God... that was... that was..."

"Thursday night," Brennan supplied helpfully.

The waitress went white. "She was here. Later than usual... she stayed a long time. Olivia was serving her... complained that she was taking up a table for several hours, but Bill said we weren't busy anyways, so she could stay. You're saying she was killed that very night?"

"Shortly after she left here," Brennan confirmed with a nod.

"Did she ever come in here with anyone?" Booth asked.

"No... no, she was always alone. Stayed for hours, always. Couldn't tell you why... she did look worried, though. Like something was bothering her. And she didn't talk much. Just ordered, paid, and left. Every time."

"When did she first start coming in?"

"A week ago... maybe two?"

"Do me a favor, and ask the other waitresses out back if they ever saw anything suspicious, or heard anything from her... maybe a phone call she made, or a car she got into out front?"

"I'll ask," she promised, stepping away from their table, still looking stricken.

"She won't be back for a while," Booth observed, calmly biting into his burger.

"Why?" she asked, her fork flipping over a piece of lettuce and chasing a tomato. She didn't look all that interested in eating.

"Because she's got to share the news and the gossip," he said quietly.

"Oh."

For a while, the only sound that could be heard was that of silverware scraping and voices murmuring from the other tables.

"At least now we know where she was before she died," Brennan observed finally, glancing up at him from her dish. She sipped quietly from her iced tea.

"One more piece of the puzzle," Booth agreed with a slight smile that she only half-returned.

They turned their attention back to their food, where it was safer.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_May 27__th__, 2018_

"This is nice," Angela said, turning to glance at her best friend, whose expression was hard to read with her sunglasses obscuring her eyes. "We haven't given ourselves girl time in a while."

"Yeah," Brennan murmured. "It's... nice."

Angela reached up a slender finger and slid her own sunglasses down her nose, looking over the top of them at her and stopping. Brennan pulled to a halt beside her, turning to look at her in confusion, her eyebrows drawing together and a familiar crease forming between them.

"No, it's not. You're miserable. You didn't want to come shopping at all. Bren, what's going on?"

"Nothing," she said, briskly striding forward up the sidewalk with her one bag. Angela lifted her three back up and hurried to match her friend's pace.

"It's not nothing," she argued determinedly. "Is this about James?"

Brennan pursed her lips, refusing to meet her eyes as she continued to walk purposefully forward with no destination in mind.

It was as much of an answer as Angela was going to get, and yet it was all she needed.

"Sweetie, you haven't told me much, but I know that things aren't going well. And I'd like to be able to help... if you'd just talk to me like you used to."

She was quiet for so long that Angela was starting to believe she wasn't going to get a response at all, and Brennan was going to find some sort of excuse to cut their shopping trip short and lock herself in her apartment. It was her way of handling things nowadays... avoidance at all costs.

Angela was almost surprised when Brennan turned and led them across the street and into a park, sitting on a bench and waiting for Angela to join her. The artist hurriedly took a seat at the other end, raising her eyebrows and waiting.

"Do you think I'm a bad mother?" she asked quietly, painful insecurity showing more than Angela had seen from her in years.

"Of course not," she scoffed in response, hardly believing that she had just been asked such a question. "Nick is the luckiest kid in the world."

She smiled softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Thanks. But I'm not so sure... and James doesn't think so, either."

"He said that?" Ange asked, mentally going through a dozen different ways to injure that man. No one made Brennan doubt herself, no one hurt her without facing the consequences. Even him.

"More or less."

"What exactly _did_ he say?"

"That I... never make promises that I can keep. That all I do is disappoint Nicky."

"And... what do you think?"

"That he's right," she whispered. Then, shakily, "Should I leave the Jeffersonian?"

If it was possible, Angela's eyes went wider. "He wants you to quit your job?"

A long moment of nothing, making her wonder if her friend had even heard her, and then Brennan gave one swift jerk of her head up and down.

"Don't," she said at once. "Don't you dare do something you don't want to do. I don't care who he is, you don't do that."

"I don't want to," she said with a heavy sigh. But there was a question there. A question in her voice about whether she was wrong in that. Angela wished she could make her see.

"Is this one of the things you and James can't agree on?" she asked gently.

"One of the many," Brennan murmured bitterly.

Another long pause while Angela mulled over what to say.

"Things _really _aren't going well, are they?" she asked, and now she was seeking a serious answer. The honest-to-goodness truth.

"No," Brennan said, and the word was so soft that she barely caught it.

"Brennan. Are you happy with him?"

She bit her lip, and her hair was shielding her face. Angela had no indication of what was going through her mind until she started shaking involuntarily, a raw, gasping sound breaking through.

"Sweetie..." Angela whispered, first placing a hand carefully on her friend's knee, and then wrapping her arms around her shoulders in a fierce embrace. "It's... it's going to be okay..."

"H-he took... he took Nick t-to a... a baseball game... and I... I promised that I was going to be _home_ yesterday, and that... that the night before I was going to read to him... and then I... the case..." A ragged sound, the likes of which Angela had only heard twice before – when Brennan had shared the truth of her past, and the day that they had been told Booth was dead – was suddenly strangling its way loose from her friend's throat. All she could do was hold her tighter and pray that she wasn't lying when she said it was all going to be okay.

"You love that boy... you love him more than anything, and anyone who can't see that is blind. And Nicholas... he loves you back. He _adores_ you."

"And I-I disappoint him..."

"You are _trying_, sweetie. You are trying so damn hard. I've never seen someone try so hard. And he knows that. You can see it whenever he looks at you... he _idolizes _you. And if you changed who you were, it wouldn't be the same. I promise you, it would _not_ be the same."

"Still not enough," she said through the tears, sniffing loudly. Her watery gaze met Angela's worried one. "It's just... so hard..."

"I know, Bren. God, I know... I've got three of them, and sometimes you just wonder if you can _ever_ do enough to show them how much you love them."

Brennan nodded shakily, but didn't say anything more for a long time.

And then, finally, she said one more thing that crushed Angela's heart.

"I don't think James loves me anymore."

"Bren—"

"No. Don't... don't try to say he does. We have not... he doesn't _touch_ me anymore. And he just... he doesn't look at me the same way. And we just... we fight all the time, and we don't see each other, and we avoid talking about things..."

"You're going through a rough time right now."

"That's not _it_, Ange," she argued, pushing herself to her feet and pacing in front of the bench. "He doesn't talk to me the same way. It's like... living with someone and-and that's _all_. I just... I miss the way things _used _to be. And I wish Booth would stop being so damn _nice_ to me."

That last bit left Angela with dozens of new questions, but she knew it wouldn't be wise to voice even a single one of them.

"Tell you what," she said instead, "We'll set up a play-date for our kids. You can get some time with Nick, I can get some time with Hodgins to try and... sort out some of our own issues, and it'll all work out."

Hesitantly, Brennan nodded. "That would be... very nice. Thank you, Ange."

"Anytime, sweetie. I'm here for you. Just... please don't forget that. Because I'm always going to be around to help, no matter what."

"I know," she said softly.

"Alright, how about we... head back to my place? Some coffee and a few hours of television? Jack's got the three of them out with Daisy and Sweets, so we'll have the place to ourselves."

"That sounds good," she agreed, brushing at her eyes. Her makeup was a lost cause, but Angela resolved to fix that when they got back to her place.

It was the least of their concerns, but it was something she could do anyways. And right now, it felt like she couldn't do enough. Her problems... seemed very small in comparison. Because she'd had no clue just how bad things had gotten. She'd had no idea that her friend thought her marriage was falling apart and her husband didn't care for her anymore. All these years, and even after the difficulties she was dealing with herself right now, there was never a doubt in her mind that she loved Hodgins and he loved her back.

This was not something she was prepared to deal with.

But she was going to figure it out. No matter what it took, even if she had to beat some sense into the ignorant man herself... she was going to figure out how to fix this.

**The feedback has been great so far, guys. I'm loving it, and it makes me so, so happy. A lot of you have mentioned that Brennan shouldn't be on this case, because she seems unprofessional and too close to it. That being said, it is necessary that she remain on it for now ;) I apologize for the somewhat unrealistic nature of that-I do try to keep things as in-character and reasonable as possible when I'm writing. Thank you all SO much for pointing it out, though. I love getting feedback like that. I hope that that element will get more realistic shortly. **


	7. Chances

**A/N: Hello all; sorry for the delay in updating. My computer has about seven viruses. It's not feeling well right now. Luckily, I email this story to myself on a regular basis, and was able to access it on another computer. I think you will all enjoy this chapter. At least, I hope you will. Song is Chances by Five For Fighting. **

_Chapter 6: Chances_

_Chances are when said and done_  
_ Who'll be the lucky ones_  
_ Who make it all the way?_  
_ Though you say I could be your answer_  
_ Nothing lasts forever_  
_ No matter how it feels today_

_ Chances are we´ll find a new equation_  
_ Chances roll away from me_  
_ Chances are all they hope to be_

_May 28th, 2018_

Booth's hands were deep in his pockets, his ankles crossed as he leaned against the front of the large desk in the abandoned office of his partner's husband. James had left him here while he went to fetch his right-hand man, Daniel Drake, whom Booth had yet to speak to about the case.

Unfortunately, this meant he'd also be dealing with the lawyers, who weren't going to sit by and let one of the top dogs be questioned without supervision.

Right now, though, he was willing to bet that Mr. Drake was the mystery man he was looking for. Maybe not the blackmailer, but probably the one Maggie had been having the affair with. A married man in a position of power – what other reason did she need to hide what she was doing? And if she had threatened to come out with the relationship, maybe even _because_ of the blackmail, then he would have had every reason to kill her.

He had talked to Sweets, yesterday, about the blackmail letter. He'd had the psychologist look it over before dropping it off at the Jeffersonian for them to analyze on Monday. And what the shrink had had to say about it was interesting, to say the least.

He hypothesized that whoever had sent it hadn't meant it at all. No interest in the money. When Booth had questioned that, he had explained that, just as Brennan had pointed out, Maggie didn't have ten thousand dollars to just give out. And the affair wasn't nearly as damaging to her as it would be to whoever she was having it with. She might lose credibility or her job, but that was it. If she really was with a married man – and Sweets also confirmed that it was the most probable situation – then he stood to lose everything.

So, Sweets had gone on to say, the blackmailer had wanted her to go public with the affair, and admit it herself. Chances were, the blackmailer cared deeply for Maggie, and wanted her out of the situation she was in, so she'd be available.

_Now, what sort of obsessed stalker do I know that might be capable of that?_

Patrick Hogan was on the top of his list of priorities, right after he got finished with this upper-management circus.

The door opened, and he glanced up, stepping away from the desk. James led the way in, followed by a man in a shiny Italian suit and the two lawyers.

"Daniel Drake," the man said, reaching out to shake Booth's hand.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth. I trust you're aware of the situation?"

"I received the unfortunate news yesterday. Very tragic."

He had small eyes, and thick, dark hair. A neatly trimmed mustache perched on his lip.

"Yes, tragic," Booth repeated with a stiff nod. "Can you tell me what your relationship was with Ms. Singer?"

"Well, she was James' personal secretary... I saw her almost every day, and had her make calls with me and schedule meetings. She was a nice young lady."

"Did you ever see her in a non-work capacity?"

"No," the man said, shaking his head and drawing his eyebrows together in confusion. "I barely knew her. Like I said, she was a friendly secretary. It's a shame what happened."

Booth could read him like a book. This man wasn't lying, and that frustrated him.

"Do you know if she was seeing anyone?" He had learned, from past experience, that it was better for his sanity and for the sake of time if he got straight to the point rather than beating around the bush and acting like these upper-class men were above him in some way. He showed them who was in charge, and they answered his quick questions with easy to read answers.

"Not that I was aware of. She was very private; if I asked her what she was doing for the weekend when I was leaving, she always said she was just spending it at home. I got the impression she didn't get out much."

"Is this necessary?" Kevin broke in. "Clearly you're wasting out time here; our client knows nothing useful for your investigation."

He turned back to James, grateful that this time he'd come alone. This would be much more difficult with Brennan here. "Why was the replacement secretary called in on Friday?"

"...Because I tried to contact Ms. Singer that morning, to get her to rearrange an appointment for me before I got in to work, and I couldn't get in touch with her. When I contacted the office, they said she hadn't called in sick. I'm a busy man, I couldn't wait for her... so I had Linda called to see if she could fill in for the day."

He had answers for everything. They both did. It was starting to annoy him.

"Are we done here?" Joel asked tiredly, crossing his arms.

"I see no reason to continue," Kevin agreed. "Unless you'd like to interrogate us as well? Why not add in a few more people that knew nothing about a woman who clearly didn't _want_ people to know about her?"

He ground his teeth together, wishing he had something solid to grill them on, so he could catch them in a lie. Drake might have the answers to all his questions, but he still had a feeling about the man. About all of these men.

He could hear Brennan's voice from years ago in his head, challenging him, _"Is this because of your issue with people who are wealthy and powerful when you are not?"_

"I'll let you know when I have more questions," he conceded, barely concealing his frustration. A glance at the clock told him it was nearly lunch anyways. He had something else to be doing.

"Excellent. I need to get back to work," Drake said with a nod, shaking his hand amicably again, before turning and striding out of the office. The lawyers followed along at a leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry, Agent," James said apologetically as he stepped around his desk and settled into his chair. "I wish there was some way we could help you. We just don't know anything about why someone would want poor Maggie dead."

He sighed. "Yeah, I can see that," he muttered before he turned and followed in the footsteps of the other three, pausing and then turning down the hallway rather than pushing the button for the elevator.

Questioning Hogan here wasn't going to work. Not with the lawyers ready to cut in no matter what James had initially promised. So he'd just have to do things his way.

"Ms. Davis?" he said, poking his head into the woman's cubicle.

"Agent Booth," she said in surprise. "Can I... help with something else?"

"Yes. Just one thing. Can you tell me when Mr. Hogan takes his lunch break? I'm going to assume it's the same time every day."

"As a matter of fact, he does." She glanced at the clock on her computer. "He goes out at 12:30 and comes back at 1:15. Every day, like clockwork." It was nearly 12:30 now, and he smiled tightly.

"Thank you. You've been very helpful."

He strode easily back up the hallway, lightly hitting the down button on the elevator. When Patrick Hogan came down for lunch, he was going to be in for a surprise.

His phone rang just as he was pulling his SUV into a spot across the street, where he had a good view of the doors.

"Booth."

"Hey, it's me," Angela said. "Can we meet somewhere?"

"Um..." he glanced at the door, then at his watch. He could catch the man going back into work instead, and the results would be the same. "Sure."

"I'll be at Founding Fathers in five," she said, and then he was listening to a dial tone.

He found her sitting in the back when he arrived ten minutes later, twiddling with a napkin that she had folded into a swan while she was waiting. It didn't look like she could keep her hands still.

"What's going on, Ange?" he asked, pulling himself up onto the stool opposite hers and accepting the basket of fries that she immediately shoved across at him. He didn't touch them, though, looking at her intently.

It wasn't often that Angela consulted with him about things that didn't relate to cases. She hadn't done so in years, since the days when she had expected him to be the one to fix problems with Brennan. Ever since Brennan had gotten married, though, she'd drifted away from it. Talking to him about cases, chatting about small things, asking for parenting advice on occasion.

But something told him that this was Brennan related. When it was about herself, Angela didn't sound so urgent. And she was never so nervous, either. She was only nervous when she was afraid that she shouldn't be talking about what she was, something he used to see often enough.

What had her so upset that she would demand to see him in the middle of the day?

"I need your help, Booth. And your silence. Which might not work out so well, because the two might clash, but just... work with me on this, okay?"

"Okay?" he said with a raised eyebrow, still feeling completely out of the loop.

"Do you still love Brennan?"

"Um," he stammered. "That's, uh, not really your business, Ange." _And totally off limits._

"Good," she said, having not heard him. Apparently that was enough of an answer. Sometimes he wondered if she could read people better than him. It was concerning. "That was all I needed to know."

She fell silent.

"Angela?" he asked cautiously. He waited for her to meet his eyes again before he asked, "What's going on?"

"Nothing good," she said, tossing her hair back and running a slender hand down her face, blowing out a breath.

"Is something going on with Brennan that I should know about?"

She rolled her tongue over her lips, internally warring with herself. He waited patiently, fidgeting and trying not to let his thoughts get out of hand about what could be wrong. No use worrying himself until he knew what it really was.

"I'm not sure if I should tell you this. Half because I'm not sure if you should know, and half because I'm still technically angry with you."

"You're mad at me?" _What did I do now?_

"Well, technically I was angry at you like... eight years ago and I just never got over it."

"Eight _years_... what are you talking about?"

"Tell me Booth, are you the gambler, the idiot, or a combination of the two? Or are you just an addict that likes to do things that don't fit your character?"

"Wait – Brennan told you about that night?" he asked, confused more than anything, but slowly putting the pieces together.

"Yeah," she said, her voice sharp, cutting into him as she leaned forward with a smile that said she wasn't amused in the slightest. "All about it, actually. About how she went home afterwards, alone, and cried herself to sleep. But I suppose you weren't aware of that last part."

He ran a hand over his face, the wind completely gone from his lungs. Honestly, he wanted to go throw up in the bathroom... he felt nauseous.

Angela's tone softened. "I can tell that you aren't completely oblivious. You realized you made a mistake... how long did it take, though?"

"She was seeing James," he said, his hand still covering his eyes, holding the heavy weight of his forehead.

There was a short pause, and then she said, "I'm not going to lie, Booth. I wanted to kill you when she told me what you said. Because it was just about the most pig-headed thing I had ever heard, and believe me, Brennan has told me a _lot_ of things that guys have told her. And I've wanted to kill them too. I just never expected it from you... from someone who claimed to know her so well. I mean, I can't believe you _still_ thought, up until a minute ago, that she was perfectly fine when she went home that night. I mean... do you have any idea how she felt about that night?"

"I know," he groaned. "Ange, do you think I haven't relived that night in my head thousands of times, thinking of how I'd do it differently? I just... I wasn't thinking right. I was upset, and she was upset... and it was just _bad_."

"I'll say it was."

"But if I could go back, if I could _fix_ it, I'd have realized what she was _saying_. Because I swear, I don't think I heard her that night. All I heard was her telling me she didn't want me... it didn't even occur to me that she was saying no for another reason."

"I get it," she said, but she didn't sound like she was forgiving him. Not completely, at least.

"Why are we here?" he asked tiredly when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything else.

"Because Brennan's unhappy. And she still trusts you."

"What makes you think that?" he asked, thinking of all the times in the past few days that argued against it. Hell, throw in what happened five months ago, and he had a good solid _case_ against it.

"She told me she wishes you'd stop being so nice to her."

"And that... means she trusts me?"

"No, Booth... you're missing the point. Brennan's having a hard time right now. She's conflicted, and hurting... and all she sees is that you're still the same guy she fell in love with way back when. And it's making her more confused."

"I'm still confused." _Brennan fell in love with me? What?_

Angela sighed. "Brennan still needs you."

He tried not to think about the paperwork sitting on his desk, but failed.

_"Hey, Booth?" It was his newest boss, Carl Tanner. _

_ "Come in, sir," he said, shuffling papers off his desk and sitting up straighter in his chair. It was Sunday afternoon, and he had been getting ready to head for home. _

_ He usually didn't like his bosses... hadn't liked anyone since Hacker, to be honest, but Tanner he could put up with. He was older, and knowledgeable. He didn't feel intimidated taking orders from someone who _belonged_ in the seat. And no one was going to argue against him if he said that Hacker hadn't belonged there. Because he really hadn't. _

_ "I've got an offer for you, Agent," Tanner said, dropping a paper-clipped packet on the open space in front of him. Booth leaned forward and read the title across the top to himself._

_ "Sir?" he said, glancing up._

_ "It's a good opportunity, Booth. I know you love your job here, but this is a good place to start looking for in your life. And you'd do me proud... I suggested you for the job."_

_ "Sir—"_

_ "Don't decide anything now. I understand you'll need to think it over, and talk to your partner. Let me know when you make up your mind."_

Training snipers at Quantico was a safe and reasonable future for him. No dangerous field work, close enough to home that he wouldn't have to worry about not seeing Parker... the only thing keeping him from taking it would be this partnership. This partnership, this _partner_, that meant more to him than anything else in the world ever had.

"She's married, Ange. I'm not going to stick around forever because she _needs_ me. I would do anything for her, but that's just... not on the list. I can't love her from a distance forever. I can't _live_ like that."

"Sorry," she said with a sigh. "I'm just... worried about her. I can see... I understand why that would be unfair. Very unfair really," she added with a frown to herself, sucking on her lower lip for a long second, apparently lost in thought as she stared blankly at the table.

"I'm glad you're trying to help her," he said softly. "But she needs you more than me now."

Angela opened her mouth as if to argue, but then shut it again.

Silence fell, and this time, not feeling hungry but feeling like he needed to occupy himself, he munched on a few of the fries.

"Was there anything else you needed me for?" he asked, glancing quickly at his watch. "I'm following a lead, and I've got a time constriction." He hated to leave her there, but he wanted to be waiting for Hogan. If he missed him, he'd have to go through normal channels or wait for him to leave work that night. And that would be a pain.

"Right. I did have some case stuff I wanted to share," she said, nodding. She seemed to return to her normal self, but he saw the shadow of her concerns still lurking in her eyes even as she talked. "I looked at that blackmail letter you brought over." She pulled a file from her purse and offered it to him.

Inside, he found the letter in a protective sleeve.

"Find anything I can use?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. I don't think our suspect was planning on this letter be studied as evidence. I don't think he was planning on much of anything, in fact. Fingerprints all over it... I ran eliminations from the victim, and found only one other set of prints. I'm running them now, but if you get me some prints, I can compare them myself and tell you right away if it's your guy."

"Excellent. What about the other scans you were working on?"

"Nothing in the financials. She wasn't paying the blackmail, I can tell you that for sure. Her emails were perfectly normal, and her phone activity was work related. _All _of it. Mostly communication between her and James, because she was his secretary. And a lot to a Daniel Drake as well."

"Anything abnormal there?" he said, jumping on it.

But Angela was shaking her head. "All strictly business as well, from what I could see. Short conversations during work hours. She didn't make any late night calls from what I can see... there were a few, on the weekends, between her and a Sue Travers."

"They were work friends," Booth supplied with a sigh. Nothing useful.

He got to his feet, tossing a five on the table.

"That should cover the fries, I think. Sorry I couldn't stay, Ange. I'm off to get our blackmailer to spill his guts, though."

"You know who it is?" she asked, frowning. "Then why did you..?"

"I've got a feeling. And I'm rarely wrong. This, though," he held up the letter, "Is what's going to convince him I'm not kidding. I'll see you back at the lab."

"Alright, Booth. Bye."

He couldn't think of anything but what Angela had told him as he made the drive back to the street he had come from, and found, to his relief, that the space he had picked out earlier was still available.

Were things really so bad with Brennan? He has suspected there might be more going on than she was sharing, when she and James had stayed in his office to talk, but now he was almost sure that things were not okay with her.

He'd always worried about this day... wondered what would happen if the marriage didn't work out. After all these years, though, he'd been sure that it was fine. That she had found someone to spend her life with... that she had made a good choice.

Now he wasn't so sure.

If Angela thought there was something wrong... then there was something wrong. The artist had rarely been wrong in the past, and when it came to Brennan... she always knew what she was talking about. She'd helped him through more than one bind, way back when there had been no James and things had been so much less complicated.

And then he thought of what she had said, about Brennan trusting him, and all the reasons why that couldn't possibly be true.

Not after what they had gone through together. Not after what had nearly happened, and what they had decided that day in the Diner, in the aftermath of it all.

With that cast on her arm.

_"You stay in the car," he said firmly, giving her a serious look and waiting for her to acknowledge what he had said. Waiting for her to promise him that she would stay there, where it was safe._

_ She looked like she wanted to take his gun and lead the way, or at the very least punch him for ordering her around, but she instead leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms, and settled for giving him a seething glare as she said, "Fine."_

_ Her tone suggested that it was anything but fine, but he was satisfied. He shut the door behind him, and, gun drawn, moved stealthily up the walkway, banging on the door._

_ "Craig Marcus, FBI! Open up!"_

_ A crash from inside, and he threw his shoulder into the door. It hurt like hell, much more than it used to, but the door splintered and the hinges creaked. Slamming his foot into it, it flew open and he burst inside on the momentum, pointing his gun in all directions as he scanned to the left and right before pressing himself to the wall and moving quickly up the hallway towards an open doorway. _

_ Running footsteps overhead. _

_ Glancing around frantically, he located a staircase as he peered around a corner, and bolted for it, taking the steps two at a time._

_ The upstairs was more of a maze than the downstairs had been, but he could hear the footsteps up ahead, pounding. He took off at a run, chasing them and keeping his footsteps as light as possible, straining to hear any changes, to guess at the man's next move._

_ Marcus had slit the throats of five woman in the past month. He called himself The Hunter. Left them clues on the park pathways where they found the victims. He was quick, and smart. He'd gotten away on foot twice now, and Booth wasn't ready to let him get away again. Not when every escape meant another body. Another woman that could have been saved if only he'd been a little quicker. _

_ He couldn't live with that._

_ "Freeze!" he shouted, catching a glimpse of the man tearing through a door. It slammed behind him, and when Booth reached it, he found it locked. He swore loudly, banging his hand on it before he tried throwing his shoulder into it. Unlike the front door, this one seemed reinforced. Kicking it more from frustration than any hope that it would open, he spun and ran around the next corner, hoping to find another door into the same room. Instead he found another staircase going down, covered in a variety of items. The sound of smashing glass told him one thing and one thing only. _

_ Marcus had gone out of that room some way that Booth hadn't found, and had gone down this staircase._

_ Dodging past boxes and what looked like dishes full of molding food, he jumped the last four steps and crunched through a smashed pile of dishes, following the trail around another corner._

_ Good God, how big _was_ this place?_

_ He skidded around a corner in the dark, and found himself back in the first room he'd reached. Marcus was across from him, and as he skidded to a halt, gun raised the man turned around with a gun of his own, which he had clearly just yanked from the desk drawer he'd been digging through._

_ "Put down the gun!" he shouted. "It's over, Marcus!"_

_ The man laughed, smiling widely and showing a set of eerily white teeth. He began moving towards the door, clicking off the safety as he did so._

_ Booth moved with him, keeping them both an equal distance from the exit. He wasn't getting away. Not alive, if that was how he wanted to play it._

_ "If you think you can pull that trigger faster than me, you may want to think again," he warned loudly, cocking his gun._

_ "You can try," Marcus offered with a shrug._

_ They stood for a long moment, each ten feet diagonally from the entrance to the hallway that led to the one exit point. _

_ "This isn't going to end the way you want it to," Booth tried again. "You put down the gun, we both walk out of here alive. You get a trial."_

_ He laughed again, a long harsh sound. It grated Booth's nerves. His finger twitched on the trigger, tightening just slightly. Waiting for the first sign to fire. The first sudden movement by his adversary._

_ "I killed those women, Agent Booth," Marcus taunted. "I don't regret it. It was fun. And if you weren't such a pain, I'd have gotten that pretty brunette the other day."_

_ Brennan. He didn't need the reminder of what Marcus had attempted that day, as they'd been walking the park, wandering from the crime scene and looking for further clues. Unaware that the killer was still lurking just through the trees._

_ A knife to her throat. The way she had crumpled to the ground when Booth had fired past Marcus's head and the man had released her, fleeing through the trees. Gone long before Booth gave chase, because he had gone straight for her, checking to make sure she was okay._

_ His grip on the gun tightened and he took a step forward. Marcus mimicked him, looking for all the world like he was enjoying this. Like it was a game and he didn't care how it turned out. He probably didn't. He was insane. Absolutely crazy... it was a defense that would have been used at court. And yet Booth knew that this wasn't going to end in court. Marcus wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't the type._

_ "One more time. Put the gun down."_

_ And then the last conceivable thing happened, and suddenly someone was stepping through the doorway. Gun drawn. _

_ She turned to him first, her gun swinging towards Marcus as she recognized him in the same instant he recognized her. Two guns fired at once. _

_ Two people fell._

_ He paid no attention to Marcus, whose blood was spreading across the floor from the bullet hole that Booth had put in his head. _

_ He fell to her side, horror creeping over him and drawing all the blood from his face. He could barely breathe. _

_ His hands found the wound in her upper arm, the bullet graze. His bullet's graze against her delicate flesh. He clamped his hands over it, for a moment confused about why she wasn't responding as he said her name over and over again, not caring that it was a name he no longer used, one she no longer went by._

_ "Bones, come on... Bones, wake up!"_

_ And then he noticed the crimson spreading across her chest. He found the ragged hole in the fabric of her blouse on her left shoulder. _

_"No. No, no, no... NO!"_

_Barely able to think straight, he turned all his attention to the greater injury, putting pressure on it with one hand as he desperately sought out a pulse on her neck. _

_ Faint, but there._

_ He was so relieved he could hardly see as he dug for his phone, calling for an ambulance and back-up. Back-up that should have been there regardless._

_ Why had he thought this would be fine? Why had he thought he could handle this guy on his own? Because he wasn't supposed to have a gun... he wasn't a gun type, Sweets said he wouldn't have one... Sweets said he would be deranged, but he wouldn't shoot. He would want to be shot, but he wouldn't actually shoot..._

_ Only he had, and Bones was bleeding. _

_ Bones was dying in his arms. _

So yes, he hadn't been okay with her going back in the field. He hadn't been okay with much of anything in the weeks after that. He hadn't been okay with the dangerously close graze wound from his own shot that had left her in that cast, and he hadn't been okay with the five hours sitting in the waiting room next to James, not able to openly panic because he had no right to be as worried as he was... because he had been far more worried than a partner. He had been more worried than James had been, to be honest... something that had done nothing to ease his fury at himself, at the world, and at everyone who wouldn't tell him where she was and what was happening with her.

She had come inside because she was worried about him. That was what she had told him when he had finally dared to ask. And that... that was one of the main reasons why he had told her he didn't want her in the field anymore, even if he hadn't told her that specifically.

He couldn't have her getting hurt because of him, though. He just couldn't.

He'd been shocked when she had agreed, but he had reasoned that she must be listening to what James wanted, not what he wanted.

And that had been fine with him. So long as she was safe.

He didn't have any longer to think about what Angela had told him, though, because suddenly all his senses poured back into the present.

Patrick Hogan was getting out of his car where he had just parked it in the employee lot. Booth got out of his car and shut the door, jogging across the street with the file Angela had given him in hand.

"Hey!" he called, catching the man before he could even reach the sidewalk.

He looked mildly panicked, but less so than he had the other day in his cubicle.

"Uh, Agent Booth. What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, Pat," he said, clapping him on the shoulder and steering him in the opposite direction.

The man swallowed nervously, but let himself be led along down the street away from his building, until they reached a bench. Booth motioned for him to sit, and remained standing himself.

"I think you know a lot more than you were saying the other day," he said calmly, fingering the file and watching the way it made the other man nervous. He was already sweating.

"Shouldn't, uh... shouldn't my lawyers..."

"Ah, we don't want to avoid them, Pat," he said, continuing to use the man's shortened name to keep him on edge. "This is just a... friendly chat. So, do you know what I have here?" he waved the file. Hogan shook his head dumbly. "Hm." Booth said, shrugging and flipping it open, giving him a glimpse at the letter before he started again. "Tell me when to stop. _I know what you're doing. Unless you want everyone else to know as well_—"

"Alright, it was me!" he said desperately, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean any of it!"

"See, doesn't it feel good to tell the truth? You know blackmail is a crime, right?"

"Yes," he admitted, gulping.

"How would you like me to forget all about this, huh?"

"What do you want?" he asked instantly.

Well, he certainly caught on fast.

"I want some help. See, I'm trying to find a killer. Not a blackmailer. You didn't kill her did you?"

A fresh row of sweat burst out on the man's forehead, and he frantically shook his head back and forth.

"Well, if you didn't do it, then you'll tell me who Ms. Singer was seeing, and why you didn't want to tell me earlier."

The man hesitated for a long moment, running his tongue over his cracked lips, and then he moved to reach into his bag.

"Hey," Booth warned him.

"Sorry," he said, raising his hands up in panic. "I was just going to get out my camera."

Booth bent over and reached in for him, extracting the digital camera and handing it to him.

"Pull up what I want," he said. "And then I'm going to have to take that as evidence."

Hogan looked like he wanted to protest, but apparently he thought better of it, biting his tongue and turning on the device. It gave a little musical trill as the lens slid out and a green light flashed on the side before staying at a solid color. The screen lit up, and Booth watched as he played with the buttons before settling on a picture. Booth couldn't see it from his angle.

"You have to understand, I couldn't say anything earlier, even if I had wanted to," he told Booth helplessly.

"Why?"

"Because... well, here."

He passed the camera over, and Booth's breath left him in one sudden gush, like he'd been punched in the gut. Several times.

The picture was taken from across the street from what appeared to be a motel, several stories up. Booth didn't know or care how he had gotten into the building across from it. All he cared about, in that moment, was the fact that Maggie Singer was lying in the motel bed, tangled in the sheets.

With Jameson Turner.

**So a lot of you saw that one coming. Let's see how right you are about the rest of it, though ;) Feedback keeps me happy, and makes me more willing to type on this other computer - that I don't care for as much - while I wait for my other one to recover. **


	8. Doesn't Remind Me

**A/N: My computer is very, very dead. Very. Thankfully, I am quite a few chapters ahead on this, so I will be able to continue updating regularly. And I will hopefully have a laptop of my own for college very shortly, as soon as I know if I got accepted to my top school. **

**Thank you again to all of you who have given me you're feedback. You all make me insanely happy. **

**Disclaimer: After all this time, I still don't own Bones. Nor do I own any of these amazing songs I use for these chapters. This one is Doesn't Remind Me by Audioslave. Enjoy.  
**

_Chapter 7: Doesn't Remind Me_

_The things that I've loved the things that I've lost_  
_ The things I've held sacred that I've dropped_  
_ I won't lie no more you can bet_  
_ I don't want to learn what I'll need_

_ I like throwing my voice and breaking guitars_  
_ Cause it doesn't remind me of anything_  
_ I like playing in the sand what's mine is ours_  
_ If it doesn't remind me of anything_

_May 28__th__, 2018_

Brennan held up one of the images of the shattered cranium, tilting her head as she studied the image of a nightstick on the computer screen, and the fracture patterns on a melon from one of Hodgins' experiments a few years previous. Shaking her head, she tapped a button on the keyboard and once again compared, this time with the damage inflicted by a camera tripod.

So far she hadn't had much luck with finding the weapon used to inflict the killing blow to their victim. The most likely weapons were either a baseball bat or a pipe, but there was no indication to show which it had been. She had found no slivers of material in the bones, and any other evidence had been burned away in the fire. And as to the damage inflicted... depending on the thickness of the pipe or bat and the strength behind the blow... it could easily be either.

Which was why she had spent the past two hours, only taking a brief lunch in the middle, trying to find other likely possibilities that might match well enough to rule out the others. She had suspected that Hodgins' was disappointed that the catalog of his past experiments meant he didn't get to perform any new ones, but as it was, he was occupied enough with the latest particulates he had picked from the rubble in the carpet of the elevator.

She wasn't sure what Cam was doing at the moment, but Angela was just as busy as she now found herself. The artist was digging through the victim's personal effects from her apartment, which had been delivered earlier. Everything from magazines to old bills to books and trinkets was filling a good portion of the space in the middle of her friend's office. Since it had all arrived, she'd barely seen her.

Brennan had been expecting Booth to ask her to go back out in the field with him, but they hadn't seen much of each other since Saturday. She was starting to think maybe he had changed his mind about wanting her working with him outside of the lab again.

To be honest, she'd been waiting for it to happen.

Five months spent virtually separated in every aspect had had an effect, and she couldn't argue against that. And then, of course, there was what had happened before. What had caused them to fall into this place.

It had been more than the marriage, which was what she liked to convince herself of whenever she got the opportunity. It was so much easier to say they had 'drifted apart,' because that was what they were supposed to have done. They were supposed to have fallen into a friendship that lived within the boundary walls of their partnership, and didn't cross the newly drawn line that she had scrawled over the old and faded one, the one which they had been toeing and smudging for years before.

That wasn't it, though, and she knew it.

What had torn their partnership apart had been the very thing that Sweets had been predicting for years, the very thing that she had very nearly let tear them apart after only their third year of partnership.

Neither of them was willing to lose the other, regardless of their feelings or lack of feelings for each other, or their involvement with other people. And every time that threat came up, it brought another level to things, and made her wonder about whether it was all worth it.

When he had been in that house, with that suspect, she had been fidgeting in the car and feeling completely useless. What good was she in their partnership if all he did was protect her? She wanted to be in there, protecting _him_. Having _his _back. Because in that moment, he was the one in danger. What sort of partner was she, if she just sat in the car like she'd been told?

That wasn't what she _did_. It wasn't who she was.

And so she had reached under her seat and removed the gun that she had long ago stashed in his SUV for this very reason. And she had climbed silently from the car and left the door ajar as she approached the walkway and stepped her way through the still-open doorway, listening desperately.

Voices ahead had told her that Booth was in a room up ahead. And the killer was with him.

Booth was shouting... telling him to put down his gun.

They were in a stand-off.

She had moved further up the hall, intent on keeping Booth safe. And then her shadow had fallen into the room, just as she came enough into view to see Marcus's face to the right. She turned back, recognizing Booth's face to the left in an instant and spinning her gun to point at the danger. As she did it, she stepped fully in between the two of them.

Booth had taken a bullet for her before. He had _died_ for her, left her in a world without him for two terrible weeks of pure hell. She wasn't going to let him do that again; wasn't going to let him stand in the line of fire for one more instant.

Two shots rang out, but neither of them was from her gun.

She felt the sting in her arm first. It was like a bite into her flesh, unexpected and sharp. The pain hit, but she barely understood why her legs suddenly collapsed beneath her, sending her tumbling down onto the hard floor. The pain from that tore into her still before it registered from the gunshot wound to her shoulder.

In fact, she was unaware of that one until much later, after she had woken up in the hospital. And even then, she'd been unsure of exactly what had happened until Angela had explained it to her.

Because it had been Angela by her bedside, not Booth. She hadn't seen Booth for hours, which had left her hurt and worried. James had been in and out, bringing food and flowers and keeping her company. But still, she had found herself thinking more and more about where her partner was.

Angela had only told her, when she had asked, that he was glad she was safe.

She'd started to think that maybe he just didn't care about her anymore. That she'd been wrong in thinking that their friendship was still fully intact after all this time. And then he had arrived, finally, late that night. She was sure he must have bribed his way past the nurses or at the very least waved his badge or lied his way into getting access, because it was certainly well past normal visiting hours.

James was back at home, looking after Nick, and Angela and Hodgins had both returned to their place as well, to take care of their three children. Angela would have been glad to stay, but Brennan had talked her out of it, insisting that she needed sleep and that she would be fine staying there alone.

So she hadn't been expecting any visitors when the door opened. Her family, her friends, her coworkers… they'd all been by already. They all knew she was fine, and she had them convinced that she didn't need company.

_In the dark, she couldn't make out who it was, but it was obvious that they thought she was asleep as they crept across the room and carefully set a chair next to her bed before settling into it. Her breathing slow but her body tense, she waited in silence, to see what they would do. In the shadows, she made out her visitor's features enough to guess that it must be Booth._

_ It felt like ten minutes, at least, before he shifted. And a hand landed first on the edge of her mattress, and then slid forward, reaching until a finger stroked her arm, the hand immediately pulling back and then sliding down to find where her hand was attached. Gently, he wove his fingers through hers, squeezing. _

_ Unable to keep herself from it, she let her hand squeeze back around his, listening to his sharp intake of breath. _

_ By now, she was sure it was him._

_ "Booth?" she asked hesitantly into the darkness. _

_ For a long moment, there was nothing. And then, suddenly, "Hi."_

_ She let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, and gripped his hand a little tighter when he went to pull it away. _

_ "Where have you been?" she asked, her most bothersome question bursting out into the open, needing an answer more than anything else that was on her mind in that moment._

_ "Around," he replied after a long moment. It was like he had to think about his answer, as if he was unsure of how to respond. It was a half-lie, and she could tell. He didn't want to tell her the full truth. Why that was, though, she didn't pretend to understand._

_ "Why weren't you here?" she asked instead, a bit of vulnerability that she hadn't intended seeping into her voice. It had to be the medication they had her on, and the fact that she hadn't been able to fall asleep despite the hour. Those factors combined were not making her brain function to its proper potential; they were letting her say things that she would normally know to keep to herself.  
_

_ He sighed, and she saw his shadowy form run a hand over his face and up to pull through his hair. _

_ "You shouldn't have been there," he said instead, a non-answer._

_ "I know that," she said in reply, nodding sharply. And she did know it. He had told her not to follow him into that building. He had demanded that she stay in the car, where it was safe, until he had apprehended the murderer and brought him back to the vehicle in handcuffs. _

_ She had ignored that order. By all logical sense, she deserved to be where she was right now. _

_The thing was, though, she didn't regret it even slightly. What would have happened if she had not gone in was an unknown. A mysterious other path that their lives could have taken. And that path might have involved the killer escaping, leaving Booth wounded or killed on that same floor that she had fallen to. The fact that she had prevented that, regardless of the consequences to herself, was more than enough to satisfy her._

_ "You could have died," he said, and it was like he was repeating what he had just said. As if he was trying to make her understand a concept that she wasn't grasping. "You almost did," he added softly._

_ "I know," she repeated. The fact that she didn't sound bothered must have registered with him, because his voice was hard and accusing when he responded._

_ "Didn't you _think_, Brennan? Didn't it occur to you, just what that would mean? You have a son, a four-year-old son who is counting on you to be there for him while he's growing up. And what about everyone else, huh? Your dad and brother, Angela? James?"_

_ She didn't miss the fact that he'd left his own name off the list._

_ "I made sure you were alright," he continued, finally answering. "And then I went home."_

_ She felt it like a knife to her gut; the fact that he was being so bluntly honest with her. Apparently his desire to hide the truth from her had vanished when his anger had risen into power._

_ She nodded silently, just to herself, not sure if he could see her outline against the bed the way she could see his framed in the light from the hallway that was seeping through the cracks around the door. And if he could, he made no indication._

_ "Why did you come? Tonight?" she asked softly, the question piercing the already tense air around them. Something had changed, between them. There was something different, now, and she couldn't place it. She didn't like it, though. She didn't like how the way they talked was off, and the way they were suddenly, in these few minutes, a million worlds apart. He didn't understand why she had done what she had for him, and he probably never would. And she still didn't understand why he claimed he didn't care, and yet came to check on her in the dead of night. Why he hadn't wanted her to know he had come, since that had clearly been his intention when he came in believing her to be asleep. How long had he planned on staying? Just a moment, holding her hand, ensuring that the nurses hadn't been lying? Had he been about to leave, had she not squeezed his fingers back and then held on? _

_ And why hadn't he just pulled away and left, regardless?_

_ "Because you're still my partner," he said simply. It wasn't a real answer, and this time she suspected that even if she pushed, she wouldn't get a full one. _

_ It felt like more than it was, when his hand pulled from hers and he stood and turned to leave without a goodbye. She could have called out. Could have asked him to stay with her. Could have said so many things. Could have simply offered a farewell, in the desperate hope that maybe he'd give one back. _

_ But she didn't. She lay in her silence and watched as he turned and vanished like ash in the wind, like a shadow into the depths of darkness where it became indistinguishable, gone even though the passing was not seen. And she wondered, in the hours after that while she lay awake in the stiff hospital bed, no more able to sleep than she had been previously, if she'd imagined the whole thing or not._

Pushing the memory back, she shook her head as if to clear it and turned her attention to yet another possibility, clicking to the next slide in the database.

It didn't do to dwell on things that she couldn't change. And besides, what was there to change about what she had chosen? She wouldn't take back the way she had handled things in that house, so it was logical that what was bothering her was the aftermath.

After five months, though, she had thought she was past this. Past wondering if she had been right to leave behind the full-fledged partnership in favor of a more restrictive one. This one saved her the fears of not being able to save him, but only somewhat. Lately, she'd been wondering just what she would do if something ever happened to him out in the field, something that maybe she could have prevented if she had continued working with him actively. How would she handle that? Would it really be any different than if she were present when it happened? The outcome was the same.

But it had been _because_ of him that she had chosen this road. In those weeks following the shooting, he'd been guilty and irritable and emotional. He'd stared at her cast like he could forcibly make her arm better with the force of his gaze, and he had tried to do things for her that she was still perfectly capable of doing. He kept acting like it was _his_ fault that she'd been shot, rather than hers. And he kept taking responsibility, even though she had pointed out over and over again that his bullet had only grazed her, and it had been Marcus's that had done the actual damage.

And still, he had blamed himself. She'd been able to see it in his eyes, even when he refused to acknowledge it out loud. So she hadn't been shocked when he had requested that she take more time off than was necessary, and then, when that time ran out, had suggested that maybe she not return to fieldwork at all.

At first, she had been more hurt than anything.

But then, when she had talked to James… he had encouraged her to continue working in the field. He had told her that the choice was hers, and she knew what she was doing. A stark contrast to the present – but she wasn't thinking about that, she reminded herself.

Whatever the reason, be it stubbornness against James or trust towards Booth or some combination of the two, she had chosen to leave fieldwork behind and return to the world she had originally joined anthropology for. She was a lab rat, and she had always been meant for that role. The shooting, and the danger, and the adrenaline… she didn't need them.

And she had convinced herself of that for five months.

Watching Booth slowly change his mind had been an eye opener. He wanted her back in the field with him more and more, as time passed them by. And yet, she just couldn't change the choice she had made. To do so would alter everything, and she wasn't prepared for that. Ever since Nick had been born, she'd been seeking a way to make her schedule more concrete, to ensure she'd be around whenever she could. After only a few months, she had adjusted. Found that she liked controlling her hours and being home on the weekends. And working less cases had even given her the opportunity to take two trips overseas, spending a few weeks on digs or giving lectures in other nations, something she hadn't gotten to give much time to in the previous years.

A part of her had missed the Diner still, and the paperwork in her office with him as her only company. James didn't like Thai food, and they mostly ate pizza on nights when neither of them felt like cooking. He wasn't flexible to her vegetarian lifestyle, either, and often made himself a separate meal on nights when she made something involving soy or tofu.

She remembered, even though she tried not to, a time when Booth had ordered out from some new specialty place just because he had thought she would like it, and had eaten it himself even though it was clear he would rather have had a hamburger.

But those were the things she wasn't supposed to remember. The things that she had put behind her years ago, in favor of her new reality, and her new life with James. Her partnership still existed. Her coworkers and the cases they worked together still existed. But there was a new dynamic, a new definition, and her thoughts were supposed to fit within that framework. They weren't supposed to fight against it, to try and escape to the patterns they were familiar with from that past life.

"Hey, Dr. B?"

She looked up, jarred from her thoughts, to find that she'd been staring at the same slide for the past five minutes. Hodgins, standing in the doorway, hadn't noticed that, though. He had interrupted because he was holding a paper with results from some test on it, and smiling widely like a man who had just won the lottery.

"Do you have something?" she asked, shoving everything else in her mind away and turning all her attention back to the details of the case.

"You bet I do," he said, striding forward and slapping the paper down on the nearest table. She stepped closer to read off the results, frowning.

"You found traces of wood?"

"The carpet under the victim's body was heated by the fire, and partially burned, but where the body was pressed into the fibers, it trapped pockets that preserved evidence." He held up a little vial, and she squinted, seeing a few traces of splinters sitting in the bottom, so tiny that they were nearly invisible even in the reflective bulb of the glass's bottom.

"Do you think they could have come from a bat?" she questioned, as she turned half her attention back to the computer, scanning through the system until she located the baseball bat example she'd been comparing to earlier.

"Most definitely," he said, eyes brimming with excitement. "An old one, though. Well-used."

"We'll need to run some tests, to compare strength and angles of impact. Maybe we can narrow down to a brand."

"I'll get Harper to work on it with me," he agreed eagerly, turning to sweep out of the office at a partial jog.

With little else more to do, and a sudden need to distract herself, Brennan stepped down from the platform and made her way to Angela's office, where she found her friend frowning at a computer screen, the rest of the evidence abandoned.

"Ange?" she inquired with a raised eyebrow, taking in the mess of cataloged objects, all apparently organized, but not in any sort of pattern she recognized.

"Hi sweetie," Angela answered distractedly, not even turning to look at her. Brennan watched as images scrolled by in succession, each staying for only a second. They appeared to be pictures from a security camera that snapped an image at regular intervals.

"I thought the apartment building didn't have a security system?" she asked curiously, moving to stand by her friend's side to get a better view.

"They don't. Not a working one, at least. This is from the security cameras from the store across the street. They've got three of them, aimed different ways. This one takes a wider image than this, but I've narrowed it down and enhanced the image, to focus just on who goes in and out of the apartment building."

"Hm. Anything that might help us?"

"Well, this could be a start," Angela murmured, purposefully tapping on her touch-pad.

The image that appeared on the screen was of a shadowy figure, but that wasn't where Brennan's attention was.

"Where did the doorman go?" she asked immediately, pointing to his abandoned post.

"Good eye," Angela murmured, her eyes flicking up and down as she played with some keys and made a few adjustments. The image changed, now showing a time a few minutes previous. "Alright, he's here now," she said softly. The image was replaced. "Still here..." One more, and they could see his back. "There," Angela stated obviously the moment the picture appeared in front of them. "I don't know where he went, but he definitely didn't see this guy go in."

"When did he return to his post?" she queried.

"Give me a second..." A few pictures flashed by in rapid succession, finally stopping on one where the doorman was moving, just stepping back into place. "He was gone for... three minutes. Bathroom break?"

"Reasonable assumption. When did our shadow man come back out of the building?"

Another short wait, and then Angela had that image up on the screen as well. She shrunk it, putting it side-by-side with the image of him entering the building.

"Can you enhance it, to see the man's face?"

"I already tried that before you got in here. No luck... he's got his collar tucked up around his face; it's not just the shadows from the lack of light like I originally thought. I might have been able to do more, had that been the case."

"From the structure, though, could you confirm positively or negatively were I to give you a picture to go off of?"

"Possibly," Angela answered, but she didn't sound confident. "I would give it my best shot."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully. "I'll get Booth to print some pictures of possibilities for you to look at. Was there anyone else entering or leaving the building that fit in our timeline?"

"As a matter of fact..." the images of their shadowy suspect swished off of the screen and out of view, and a new screen popped up in the middle, loading for a second before flashing into life. "I thought you might find this interesting."

It was another man, this one with his back fully to the camera. He was talking to the doorman.

"Why wouldn't the doorman have told us about this? Is that a tenant?"

"Not quite," she answered grimly, zooming in. A few algorithms ran down the side of the screen, and the images brightened, zooming in as a section highlighted, lines appearing and dots connecting. And then an image appeared in the glass as the image enhanced another layer. The screen zoomed in as Brennan watched, and the image flipped to return to it's normal state from the mirrored one it had been in.

"That... is Joel Baleno," she said slowly, frowning.

"Exactly," Angela answered, eyeing her with a raised eyebrow. "Just thought you should know."

"I don't understand," Brennan said, shaking her head and turning away from the screen. "Why would Joel be there?"

"I think that's a question better aimed at Joel," Angela answered carefully. "And we're going to have to tell Booth, as well. He needs to know."

"Joel didn't kill Maggie," Brennan said at once.

"I didn't say that, sweetie," came the gentle response, telling her that she was getting defensive unnecessarily. "Just... Booth needs to know. It might help catch the real killer. Whomever that may be."

Brennan nodded slowly, turning her eyes back to the screen once more.

"Speak of the devil..." Angela murmured, drawing her attention. One glance at her friend, and she turned all the way around to follow the artist's gaze. Booth was striding across the lab, heading straight for the office.

As he stepped inside – without bothering to knock – he glanced at her, and his eyes darkened just slightly before he hastily turned to Angela.

"I need to talk to you," he said swiftly. Another cursory glance in Brennan's direction told her he wanted to talk to Angela _alone_. Frowning, she lifted a hand to rest on her hip, and waited for him to try and force her to leave.

He closed his eyes, and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Sweetie." It was Angela who was going to force her out. Sighing, she grated her teeth for a moment, wondering if it would be worth arguing the point. But finally she just spun on her heel and stalked out.

Booth and her were orbiting in separate solar systems, sometimes getting dangerously close, pulling at each others' gravity... and then drifting so far apart that they couldn't even see each other anymore. She didn't understand why they were clashing so much, why they had to go through these phases of cooperation and then tumble back into disarray. It would be so _nice_ if they could just work professionally and stop dealing with all the problems from their past that she no longer wanted to think about.

Glancing back over her shoulder as she stalked away, she saw Booth shut the door. The blinds fell, and both of them were lost to view. She huffed out a frustrated sigh, now both confused and irritated.

What did Booth have to say to Angela that he couldn't say in front of her? They were supposed to be working this case together like the partners they still claimed to be. If he was keeping things from her, trying to take the complete lead on this... how was that supposed to work for _her?_

When he re-emerged, he had an unreadable look on his face. When his eyes connected with hers, they flicked away. Was that... guilt? _What the hell?_

Her gaze fell past him, to the first person she knew to question about what was going on. Angela wouldn't keep it from her if it was truly as serious as she was starting to think. Except... Angela looked... wrong. Her hair was tousled, like she had just been running her hands through it... as if what Booth had told her had stressed her out. And she was biting her lip and purposefully avoiding her friend's eyes. She would look towards her, without making eye contact.

Something was going on. Something they _both_ didn't want to tell her about. Suddenly, her frustration was melting into concern. If Booth was keeping something from her, that was one thing. She could chalk it up to the tension between them, or something she had said or done. But when it was Angela... it made her worry.

"What's going on?" she asked as soon as he was close enough, not bothering with any niceties. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

"Nothing, Brennan," he said, waving off her concerns like they were nothing. It set her even more on edge, and she felt her back stiffen. "I'm heading back to the apartment building to re-question the doorman. Angela tells me he might have seen more than he was saying."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why you're here in the first place."

Again, he waved her off. "I just had a few things I wanted her to look over."

"Like what?" she demanded, stepping closer, invading his personal space.

"Just something I picked up from one of the other agents. I need her to... verify a few things."

"Fine," she snapped. "Don't tell me. But I'm coming with you to interview the doorman."

He looked horribly uncomfortable for a moment, eyes flicking over the Angela. Brennan wanted to look over as well, see what Angela's reaction was, what her friend was non-verbally suggesting that he do, but she couldn't break the glare she had fastened on him. She would deal with Angela later.

"Alright," he agreed, surprising her. She had almost expected him to say something back, to counter the rest of what she had said... but he didn't. He simply turned and walked away, leaving her, for once, to be the one hurrying to catch up.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"We're looking for a baseball bat," she told him as they approached the building. Like every time recently, the ride over had been almost entirely silent. The only difference had been the way he kept glancing at her – which she had tried to ignore. "Well-used, probably a bit beat up. If it's the murder weapon, there's no way they'll have been able to remove every trace of blood."

"Well, that will be useful. I'm sure you brought your testing kit with you?"

"Of course," she said with a nod.

They reached the front of the apartment building, and Booth motioned for Rory to come with them as he held open the door for her. She frowned slightly at the gesture, but stepped inside. The way he was moving around her... it was confusing. One moment he was hurrying ahead or away, like he didn't want to be near her. The next, he was being overly cautious. Opening doors. Speaking carefully. Trying just a bit too hard to sound normal, when she knew things were far from it.

Something had changed, in the past few hours. And she wished he would tell her what it was. Hell, she almost wished she'd elected to stay at the lab, so she could have dragged it out of Angela.

"We know from the surveillance Angela was looking at that the murder weapon didn't come into the building that night, and it also didn't leave. A baseball bat would have been difficult to conceal from the cameras, and it's unlikely that the culprit actually knew they were being recorded."

"Wait, a baseball bat?" Rory said, looking faint.

"Yeah," Booth cut in, leaning closer to the younger man. "That sound familiar, Rory? Does somebody in the building play baseball? Somebody I talked to, maybe? Somebody with something against Ms. Singer?"

"No, no, it's not that... it's just... we keep stuff in the lobby, y'know? Somebody loses a glove, a hat... it goes in the lost-and-found. We put all the bigger stuff in the janitor's closet... if someone is missing something like that, they come to me, and I check to see if someone put it there."

"And there's a bat in the lost-and-found?"

"There was one there... last week. I went to get a mop... a tenant on the third floor had a sick kid. Real mess all over the stairs. I remember the bat fell over while I was trying to get the cleaning supplies out."

"Where's this closet?" Booth demanded.

"Right... right over there," Rory said, pointing to a door tucked in an alcove next to the elevators.

Booth gave her a glance, and then both of them moved at once to the closet. Brennan was already pulling gloves on, and she grabbed Booth's arm to stop him, sliding her kit off of her shoulder and pulling out a fingerprinting solvent. She spritzed the handle, taking a moment to carefully collect the prints that slowly formed in the mist before she finally opened the door.

The baseball bat was sitting close to them, propped up against the nearest corner. She carefully took it out, holding it up between slender, gloved fingers. She raised an eyebrow as she met Booth's gaze over the wooden weapon.

There was red coated between the grooves.

"Oh God," Rory said in the background.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth hadn't expected to be back in this office so soon, and yet... here he was. Once more leaned against the side of James' desk, observing the man from across the room.

Gone was the calm and smooth exterior of a man who simply wanted to help in any way possible. James had hardened, and his lawyers were speaking to him in low terms, enough so that Booth couldn't pick up anything but the occasional word. Nothing that would help him.

But then, he didn't need much help. James was practically digging his own grave, and Booth still couldn't decide if he was happy about that or not. Part of him hated the man. Hated his smug face, his smooth talking, his cool control over every situation, over the woman who Booth still found himself very much in love with. And at the same time, it was that love that made him hope desperately that James couldn't have been responsible for this.

He had cheated.

After dropping Brennan back at the lab – ignoring her protests – Angela had given him the envelope he had requested she make up for him. And she had told him the dreaded words, that he actually, truly, hadn't wanted to hear.

The pictures were real. There was no doctoring, no editing to put either James' or Maggie's faces into the image. There was nothing off with the shadows, with anything. It was a photograph taken from a distance. A photograph of James and Maggie, together, in a motel bed.

It meant that, without a doubt, this man, this jackass, this moron, this unspeakable piece of filth in every sense... had betrayed Brennan in the worst way possible.

It made Booth want to kill him, because he knew that it was going to kill Brennan.

Angela didn't feel much different.

_"Booth," her voice was low, but still calm. Still unaware of the gravity of the situation. He really didn't want to tell her, but it was why he was here. Why he was gripping the digital camera he had held concealed in his coat to avoid questions from Brennan. "Give me the camera," she said softly, reaching forward._

_ He peeled his fingers from the cool metal and dropped it into her waiting palm. She was looking at him like he had just grown two heads, but he could see concern there as well. She understood how serious this was._

_ Her fingers tapping over the keys and a cord running from the camera to her computer screen – "You can't put it on the big screen," he had insisted – she had a look of set determination on her face. Still, he knew she wasn't prepared._

_ And she proved it, when the images appeared, and her breath rushed out in one single horrified gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth._

_ "Booth, what—?"_

_ She was waiting for him to tell her that this was a lie, but he couldn't. He was still praying that she would be the one to tell _him_ that. _

_ "The stalker gave this to me," he said darkly._

_ Silence, as she scrolled through the images, her expression hardening with each one that graced the screen. _

_ "I'm going to kill him," she said at last. It wasn't a hasty declaration. It was honest, and non-apologetic. Her face was completely blank, but her eyes... they were blazing with unhindered fury. "If you or Max don't beat me to it... I will _kill _him. After I cut off his—"_

_ "Ange," he interrupted off gently. _

_ Her anger turned on him for a moment, her mouth opening to continue, but then it faded away, and she stared at him, looking drained and lost. She no more knew what to do with this than he did, and he found himself suddenly disappointed. He had been desperately hoping she might present some sort of answer to the situation. _

_ "I need you to tell me if these are real."_

_ She nodded immediately. "Better safe than sorry," she muttered. "But Booth... this looks _very_ real. God, do you have any _idea_... when Bren sees these..."_

_ "I'd rather if she didn't," he said firmly. _

_ "Booth," Angela frowned, "Brennan... she has to know about this."_

_ "Obviously," he groaned, running a hand over his face. "I just... how do you tell someone this type of thing? How do you tell _her_ something like this?" Angela had no answer, simply shaking her head, her eyes returning to stare blankly at the screen. "Ange?" her attention slowly shifted back to him. "I have to know... don't take this the wrong way." He took a steadying breath. "Did she know? Did she... suspect that he might have been unfaithful?"_

_ "No," Angela answered at once, shaking her head and looking like she wanted to strangle him for bringing up the very idea, even though she understood that he had to ask. "No, Booth, she had _no_ clue. Why do you think this is going to destroy her? I mean..." it was her turn to run her hands through her hair. "They had their problems, you know? Everyone has their problems. Me and Jack have enough for a whole village, God knows. But... to think that he would be... that James would just... how _could_ he?" she broke out raggedly._

_ "It makes no sense to me," he muttered. "To have Brennan... to have her give everything up for you... and then do _this _to her... it's the most..." he couldn't even come up with a word to describe it. He settled for burying his head in his hands, dropping down heavily onto the artist's couch. "She's out there," he said, stating the obvious. "She's out there in the lab, probably pissed at us... and she has no clue. Ange, how can I tell her? How can I... I mean, you said it first – this will destroy her. How can I _do_ that?"_

_ "Don't," she said sharply, and he frowned in confusion. "Don't," she repeated. "This is James' mess. This is what _he_ did to her. Not you. You make _him_ tell her. And if he can't man up... then all the more reason to kill him."_

"Alright, Agent Booth. My client has been very cooperative. And you've been very disruptive to the business. Mr. Turner has had to cancel several meetings for your investigation. He doesn't appreciate the intrusion."

Resisting the urge to punch Kevin, Booth cleared his throat and withdrew the large envelope from his coat.

All three mens' eyes turned to it.

Booth tapped it in his palm a few times, watching their expressions, before he began calmly.

"Maggie had a stalker. Were you aware of that, Mr. Turner?"

"I was not," James said stiffly. "Maybe you should be looking into him, instead of bothering me."

Booth silently popped open the envelope, letting the sound hang in the air before he slid out the photographs he had asked Angela to print for him.

He looked at the one on top for a long moment, feeling their eyes on him. None of them could see the picture from their angles, and it made the room more tense than it already was.

"I've been close friends with Brennan for twelve years now," he said, his voice turning cold to reflect his feelings. He couldn't have fought that if he tried. "I've been there, through some of the toughest times. And yet, something tells me that all that... is going to be nothing compared to what this will do."

He tossed the pictures down on the desk, and they spread out on their own, falling in a messy row across the dark wood surface. James flinched as his eyes flicked to each in turn. The lawyers remained silent and impassive.

For the moment, Booth ignored them, all of his intent focused upon the man in front of him.

Slowly, James shook his head.

"What do you have to say about this?" Booth asked, his voice deadly. "What do you have to say for yourself, for why you would do this? Because, right now... it's looking to me like you have the best motive I've seen yet."

"I didn't kill Maggie," he said, his eyes still on the images. What was that there in his eyes? Pain?

"Then you paid someone to do it for you," Booth said instantly, stepping forward. His finger punched down on the picture in the middle of the collection. One of them where both of their faces were clearly visible. "See this? This woman was going to tell the truth. She was going to _out_ you to your friends, your coworkers, your _wife_. She was going to ruin you. You couldn't let her do that."

"Maggie wasn't going to tell anyone," James said, shock playing across his face. His eyes shot towards his lawyers.

"Agent Booth," Joel warned. "You have no evidence to prove that—"

"Oh, I've got plenty of _evidence_." He pulled the final photograph from the envelope and placed it atop the others. It was the picture of Joel entering the building on the night of the murder.

The man blew out a breath and turned his eyes towards the ceiling.

"What do you think, Mr. Turner? Awfully conclusive, wouldn't you say?"

"I have nothing to say," he answered firmly. Booth could see that Kevin was coaching him. He really hated lawyers.

"Fine. At least tell me, though... why did you do it? Huh? _Why_ did you cheat on her?"

James stared at him for a long moment, and then took a step forward. "All those years... in my position, Agent Booth... I don't care how much you think you care about her. You would do the same thing."

A vein in his neck pulsed for a beat, and then he seized James by the arm and spun him around, snapping the cuffs tightly around his wrists and taking satisfaction from the small sounds of surprise and pain that he got in response.

"Jameson Turner, you are under arrest for the murder of Margaret Singer. You have the right to remain silent... but for your sake, I sure as hell hope you don't."

**I'm sure you're all glad about that. Let me know just how much with a lovely comment or two :D **

**(PS- who's excited for this week's new episode? *raises hand* No spoilers, though, people. I want to go in mostly unaware for this one.)**


	9. Crash and Burn

**A/N: This chapter is much shorter than the others, and I apologize for that. It's very emotion-packed, though, so hopefully that will make up for it. Title is from Crash and Burn by Lifehouse, which is one of my all-time favorite songs. **

_Chapter 8: Crash and Burn_

_And if I fall and crash and burn_  
_ At least we both know that I tried_  
_ And as I crawl there's lessons learned_  
_ Yeah, they remind me I survived_

_ Silence just keeps screaming back at me_  
_ The ones I love are lost in memories_  
_ And I wish that I could take back what was done_  
_ You can only change the person you become_

_May 28__th__, 2018_

Slowly, Booth let his cell phone snap shut, his eyes never leaving the room on the other side of the observation room mirror.

His face was hard as he finally turned to meet the alarmed-looking Sweets who was staring at him expectantly. He had just hung up with Angela after informing her of what had happened and what was now occurring. According to the artist, Brennan wasn't at the lab. Where she was, neither of them knew. She wasn't answering her cell.

Booth tried to not let his mind stray to possibilities. There had to be a reason she would suddenly vanish and cut off communication. Maybe she didn't even realize they were trying to contact her. Maybe she was at the gym... that would explain it.

He refused to believe that there could be another reason.

"Booth?" Sweets inquired. "Are you going to... explain what's going on? I was under the impression that Mr. Turner wasn't a prominent suspect? Does Dr. Brennan know about the arrest?"

The shrink had been listening to the conversation he had just had, so there were obviously other reasons he was asking Booth to answer the questions. Pushing that aside, though, he decided that just giving him what he wanted was the best solution for the moment.

"Not yet she doesn't," he said as calmly as possible. "And he made himself a prominent suspect a couple of hours ago."

"How?"

Booth sighed. Brennan still didn't know. It felt like a terrible betrayal of his own, for him to be sharing the information. With everything else, she didn't deserve this as well. But she was going to know soon enough, and Sweets was here to help.

Fighting away his guilt, he answered, "James was sleeping with the victim."

Sweets' jaw went slack, and he instantly cut his eyes towards the man in the interrogation room.

"He... did Brennan..?"

"She didn't know. Still doesn't know."

"Oh my God," Sweets said. It came out like a prayer, a whisper off of his lips as he shook his head. "How are you going to..?"

"I'm not going to," Booth said stiffly, nodding towards the man in the suit, who was still conversing lowly with the lawyer who wasn't a suspect. Yet. Joel was sitting in another interrogation room. It would be a while before Booth bothered getting to him.

"You're going to have James tell her himself," Sweets said, realization dawning. "I can see where that would be the more... pleasant option."

"Yeah, well... nothing is looking very _pleasant_," Booth spat, his glare returning to his face as he again considered the dozens of painful ways in which he could murder James. None of them would change the fact that Brennan's heart was going to be broken very shortly, though.

All these years, and he'd thought he was doing the right thing by backing off and letting her live her life with a man who she had fallen in love with. All these years, and he had suffered in silence, wanting to be with her more than anything, and thinking that at least if she wasn't with him, then she was with someone that made her happy.

And now, after all of that... he found out that this man, who had _everything_ Booth had ever dreamed of... had had the audacity to turn his back on it. Like she wasn't _enough_. Like having Brennan love him, like having her to wake up to in the morning, like sharing all those memories and those close moments, like getting her to _marry_ him, wasn't some sort of gift from the cosmos.

He could never have loved her the way Booth had. The way he still did.

But Brennan... Brennan had loved James.

His fists clenched at his sides.

"Who _does_ know about this?" Sweets asked cautiously.

Booth's eyes slid shut again. "You, me, and Angela. And those two scumbag lawyers and the stalker."

The warning was implied. _Don't tell anyone else._

Sweets nodded, his gaze returning to the interrogation room.

The door flew open in a sudden motion, and hurricane Brennan burst in. Booth barely noticed Sweets slipping out before the door clicked shut.

"How _dare_ you!" she spat, sparing no layer of her emotions as she pushed herself straight into his face, her eyes burning and her teeth clenched. "You refuse to let me come on the interview, dropping me off at the lab like I'm incompetent in the field, and then you do _this?_ What, were you planning ahead of time, and didn't want me getting in the way when you made the arrest? What _grounds_? What grounds made this okay? If you have evidence, and you didn't even think to _share_ it with me—"

"Brennan."

"James has done absolutely nothing to warrant such—"

"Brennan, please just..."

"He's cooperated every time you had questions, he's opened his office to your investigation, and you repay him by—"

"Brennan!"

She stopped short, at last, her breath huffing out. Her hair was coming loose from the ponytail it had been in, and strands of it went up at all angles. He was reminded suddenly of the woman he had first met, all those years ago. The woman who had swung up and slapped him with all her strength because he had grabbed her arm. The woman who had snarled at him like a caged animal making a break with no thought but the attack.

"I didn't plan on arresting him, I promise." Her eyes didn't tame in the slightest; if anything, she looked angrier. He pushed on before she could start yelling at him again. "There's something you should know. It will... explain why I did what I did. But you need to ask him," he said, pointing through the glass. "You ask him why he's here. And if he _doesn't_ tell you, then I can tell you that I _will."_

Her breathing was quieter, but her hands were still balled into fists.

"No," she said shortly, a quick shake of her head loosening a few more strands of her hair. A long layer tumbled down in her face, and she didn't bother to brush it away, her eyes locked on his. "Tell me now. Tell me why, and _then_ I will go talk to James. Before I take him home. You have no right to hold him."

"Maybe I do, did you think of that? Did you think that maybe I was doing the right thing, Brennan? That I wouldn't have done this otherwise, because I would never do anything to hurt you?"

She was taken aback, something she quickly tried to hide but failed at miserably.

"Booth. Tell me. If it's such a good reason... then _tell me_."

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want her to know, even though she had to. But mostly, he didn't want to be the one to tell her, even if it was what she preferred. It might make him selfish, but for once in his life, he wanted more than anything to take the easier road offered to him.

The way she was looking at him changed, as she seemed to read his face for the first time since her arrival. She deflated, in a way he had never seen her do, and her eyes widened, their blue depths growing lighter and more childlike.

"Booth?" she asked. Her voice was suddenly quieter. A question there that did not need to be voiced. Now that she was paying attention... she was also realizing that she might not want to hear whatever it was he had to say.

He squeezed his eyes shut. _Like a band-aid, _he chanted in his head. A mantra to sooth his nerves. One that was not working, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it was the best way to do it.

He couldn't do it like that. Couldn't do it, because quick and easy was _his_ preferred method. Not hers. She couldn't hear it like that... a rush and a blur and the world crashing down over her head. She deserved to understand, to hear it full out, the way he had discovered it, so that she could process. As hard as it would be, she _needed_ the evidence. It was who she was. Who she would always be.

It made her the woman he still found himself in love with every morning when he woke up.

"I checked up on the stalker earlier," he began. She nodded slowly, seeming to accept that she was getting the full explanation. Her arms crossed over her chest and she adjusted her position as she waited for him to continue. "I knew he knew more than he was saying, so I cornered him after his lunch break, so he couldn't get away from me.

"From Sweets and Angela, I knew that he was almost guaranteed to be the blackmailer. When he opened up to that, I requested his help in order to overlook the charges. So he gave me his camera."

"So you found out who Maggie was having an affair with," Brennan resolved, getting a step ahead of him. Not far enough ahead, though. This time, he knew it wasn't because of her investigative skills, but rather because she wasn't capable of making the connection. To letting herself believe her husband could possibly be the married man who had been sleeping with Maggie.

"And I arrested him," Booth said softly, laying the final brick in the path and waiting for her to step across and realize what he meant.

It took a moment, and he took no pleasure in it, as he watched the change wash over her features. In the first couple of seconds, his words meant nothing to her. They were just words, offering an explanation that she wasn't grasping. She frowned, her head tilting slightly, as if she was waiting for him to continue. When she understood that that was it, the end of his explanation, her frown only deepened, her fingers loosing their grip and her arms uncrossing, falling loosely at her sides.

Her gaze slid away from him, breaking the contact and landing on the two way mirror even as she took a step closer to it. With shaking fingers, she reached up to touch the cool surface.

"No." The word was a soft sound. It was a plea, and she spun around the moment it had skittered loose of her tongue, her eyes connecting once more with his. Even as the horror drained all the color from her face, she was still shaking her head, her eyes seeking desperately across Booth's face. "No," she repeated, a bit more forcefully.

"Brennan, I'm so sorry..."

"No!"

She was searching for something to hold onto, and he wished it could be him. But she sank helplessly into the nearest chair, shaking violently, her eyes vacant and darkening with every passing second. She looked terribly innocent and victimized. Broken beyond repair in that one moment.

He was reminded of an image Angela had once brought to his mind. An image of what Brennan had turned into in the aftermath of receiving the news of his death in that hospital waiting room. Only, now he was getting a front row seat for it.

And it was breaking his heart.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

If there was ever a moment when Brennan wanted to escape reality, this was it.

She stared at Booth, feeling helpless and lost. Hating the vulnerability that was washing over her, but being completely incapable of saving herself from it.

Any moment now, someone was going to wake her up. Someone was going to save her from this nightmare that she'd just been thrust so cruelly into. How could this be happening to her, after all she had already gone through? How could happiness be continually dangled in front of her, only to be snatched away in the worst ways? Every. Single. Time.

No one had been there to wake her up on that Christmas morning when the presents were lonely under the tree and her parents' car was still missing from the driveway while the phone lay in its cradle, still refusing to ring and answer the hundred of unanswered questions chasing each other through her head.

No one had been there to wake her up the first night a foster father creaked her door open in the darkness and whispered her name.

No one had been there to wake her up in that windowless cell, as she lay on the dirt floor with a bag over her head and listened to the voices promising to put a bullet through her skull. Promising that no one would ever know what became of her... the way she did not know what had become of her parents.

No one, _no one_, had been there to wake her up in those two weeks after Booth had stood up in front of her in that karaoke bar, saving her life and destroying it in that one simple action.

And now... _now,_ no one was going to wake her up. No one was going to tell her that what Booth was saying wasn't true. No one was going to explain that it had all been a misunderstanding, and that James had not done this.

"No," she said again, her voice foreign to her own ears. She couldn't look at Booth anymore. Couldn't meet his pitying gaze. She closed her eyes, raising her hands to brush at her hair. It fell across her face, shielding her, guarding what little remained of her shattered heart from the unwelcome view of her one witness.

"I'm so sorry," Booth repeated softly. She only bowed her head further, her teeth digging into her lower lip to fight back the first sob.

"Proof," she choked out. "I need... please." He wouldn't lie to her. She knew Booth, and she knew he would _never_ have told her if he wasn't sure himself. But she needed, _needed_ to see for herself. She needed to know that this was real. "Please," she repeated softly.

She could feel him hesitating, shifting on his feet. And then he retrieved an envelope from inside his coat. Through the curtain of hair, she watched as he opened it and withdrew a photograph.

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure if she really wanted to see. But she still raised her head and reached up to take it from him. He looked unsure of himself, his brow furrowed with more wrinkles than she remembered him having as he relinquished the glossy image.

The picture was less than she had been expecting. Booth had probably picked a less compromising one on purpose... she didn't doubt that the envelope held more. But she didn't ask to see those. Didn't want to.

The one image, on it's own, was more than enough.

Somehow, seeing it was easier than she'd been expecting. James, in a strange bed, arms around a woman who was obviously Margaret Singer. The punch to the gut stung as she felt her breath rush out, a small sound escaping along with it, one she hadn't given permission to. Booth shifted, looking like he wanted desperately to comfort her, but he didn't know what to do. She'd have helped him, but right now... she had no mind to even take in his situation.

It seemed horribly simple. So easy to accept, really. After all, had she really believed that someone could unconditionally love her? That they would never hurt her? Had she really been so foolish as to think that she could be enough for another person?

It almost made sense, in a twisted, painful sort of way.

She had set herself up for this, by letting herself believe in all those concepts of love that her friends had been pushing on her for years.

"I need to talk to James," she said, fresh resolve taking over. She needed someone to be angry at, and she needed it right now. She was almost grateful to Booth for giving her the opportunity.

"Of course," he said quickly, preceding her out the door.

He opened the door to the interrogation room, and gave her a look before he stepped inside on his own, shutting the door behind him. A moment later, Kevin stepped out of the door, his eyes sweeping over her but giving no indication of whether he was on her or James' side in this. Not like she needed to know, though. It was clear he would side with his friend. His client.

Booth stepped out, and murmured to her in a soft voice. "I have to stay in the observation room. I'm sorry, Brennan, it's protocol."

She just nodded. "I don't mind you watching," she said quietly. She did mind, but she wasn't going to say that. She couldn't change the situation anyways.

Booth looked at her like he suspected she was lying, but then he stepped aside, holding the door open for her. When it shut behind her, she felt like she'd just been tossed into the lion cage at the zoo. There was a silence, while they both observed each other. Him from his uncomfortable chair on the other side of the table, her from her standing position beside the door.

Her footsteps were loud when she finally moved forward, her heels clicking coldly against the hard floor. When she stopped beside the chair opposite her husband, the sound echoed. Her eyes bored into his.

He didn't even look slightly remorseful. Mildly uncomfortable. Tired. But not sorry.

She pulled the chair out, and the legs dragged. A high, shrieking sound. Like the screams reverberating in her head, that she could not let loose upon him.

Much like she suspected Booth would have done, she slapped the picture down in front of him, slowly seating herself.

She had no words. An accusation would have been woefully inadequate, and the picture carried out the task for her, regardless. Besides, what would she say to him? Mostly, she wanted to either strangle him, or go cry in a corner. Neither were suitable options.

But it became clear that he wasn't going to say anything, either. He stared at the picture for a while, and then lifted his eyes to meet hers again. Both of them silent.

"Why?" she said. It was a single word, but the emotion behind it was like a hurricane. She wished she could have held it back, but the desperate _need_ resonated from the simple question. _Why did you do it? Why did you leave me behind? What did I do wrong?_

He sighed. A soft sound that hit her like a blast of shattered glass.

A slight shiver trembled down her spine.

"Tempe... I used to love you."

She clamped her teeth together hard, swallowing. She couldn't have spoken if she had wanted to. Her eyes flicked to the two-way mirror, knowing that Booth was watching this. It made it even more difficult than it already was.

_Better than a random stranger,_ she forced herself to think.

"You, though... you never stopped loving your _job_." He leaned forward towards her over the table. "It's interesting, how there's always something that draws you to someone else... and it becomes that one thing that you can't _stand_ about them, later on.

"And with you... it was that passion for anthropology. All those early mornings, taking off to the _lab_. All those late nights where you forgot to come home..."

"I still love you!" she shouted out. It was almost involuntary, and it took a long moment for her to recognize that the words had actually escaped from her own lips. "I still love you," she repeated, more softly, her eyes staring desperately into his, searching for what she used to see in those depths. All she found was darkness. "Was it because we were having problems? Was that it? You didn't... you didn't want to take the time to sort them out?"

His tongue slicked over his lips, his gaze trailing slowly along the wall. Finally, they arrived back at her face. "Tempe, I started seeing Maggie last year."

Last year, things between them had been fine. Things had been great.

"I don't... I don't _understand_," she ground out, blinking quickly to clear her vision.

They'd still been sleeping together last year. So he had been... spending the day with Maggie and the nights with her? Her head was spinning. The pain in her chest, around her pounding heart, was becoming more than she could bear.

"Maggie... she understood me. She cared about me. She did everything for me. And she was always there."

_"I_ was there," she choked out. "I... I _loved_ you, all those years... do you have any idea..."

"I know," he said shortly. "I get that it meant a lot to you. But Temperance, we aren't compatible. And I was going to tell you. I just never got the chance to, and then poor Maggie—"

She let out a small sound of disbelief, watching the way his eyes strayed to the picture again. The way they softened with the first trace of sadness since she'd entered the room. He had no sorrow for her. He didn't feel bad for what he had done. The only thing he was upset even slightly about... was the fact that his mistress was dead.

"Why not just get a divorce?" she asked, the words like knives on her tongue. "Why not just be _done_ with it, rather than... rather than stringing me along all this time?"

"You barely noticed anything was different," he shot back. "You barely even noticed that I was unhappy. I mean, God, I thought things would change after we got married, but you know, they never did. You still kept everything bottled up... still wouldn't let me in on things that were bothering you. And you went on, and _on_ about cases you were working, as if I actually cared!"

That last part was very nearly her undoing. She gave a ragged gasp, shaking her head, and then did the only thing she could possibly think of doing.

"Did you kill her? Did you kill that woman?"

He shook his head, the regret returning to his eyes. "No, I didn't kill her. And I'm very sorry that she's gone... it's not quite the same at the office anymore."

She was gone in a flurry, knowing that she would throw a punch or at the very least slap him if she didn't get him out of her sight. The door slammed shut behind her, and she stalked up the hallway, brushing at the tears that she suddenly couldn't seem to stop. She was only grateful that they had waited until she was out of James' view before they began pouring down her face.

"Brennan!" Booth called, his voice out of breath. She could hear his footsteps pounding after her up the hallway. She kept going, trying to ignore him as she sniffled away a few more of the tears, feeling horribly undignified. If she'd spotted a lady's room, she would have gratefully vanished into it. But there were none in the hallway, and the elevator ahead was her only option for escape.

He called her name again, and she ducked her head, still swiping at the tears as she picked up the pace of her walk, stumbling slightly in her heels as she hit the edge of the hallway's runner carpet.

"Brennan, wait!"

Her finger punched the down button, and a soft ding washed relief through her as the doors slid open. She stepped in and hit the close doors button, but not before Booth swooped in beside her. The doors slid shut, locking them in together.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wide and his breathing still coming in short rasps. She was slightly out of breath as well, but she kept her lips pursed tightly, staring at the wall, the ceiling, the changing lights that indicated which floor they were on. Anything that would keep her gaze away from his worried face. She could feel his stare burning into her.

The tears continued to traverse their paths down her cheeks.

When the elevator car shuddered to a halt and the doors started to open, he reached out a hand to block her path, hitting the button to shut the doors again before they even finished opening.

"Booth," she said, her voice pleading. She was too tired for this. Too tired for anything. She just wanted to go home... get away from this building, from all this truth that had been showered down upon her. And Booth was a part of that truth. She needed to get away.

_"Bones,"_ he said, his voice soft. A sound that she didn't recognize escaped her lips. It might have been relief, or shock, or any mix of the two. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I am so, so sorry."

Her back hit the wall for support, and she found herself nodding. She hadn't heard that nickname in years. In so long that she had almost managed to forget the sound of the word off his lips. It hadn't been just a name, for those long years of their early partnership. It had been her definition.

And she recognized that in using it, he wasn't trying to lay any sort of claim. He wasn't trying to do anything, really, other than express how deeply apologetic he was. And that name... that name said it, all on its own.

She wished he would say it again, but he didn't. He stayed on his side of the elevator car, watching her with his brown eyes shining. She couldn't tell if it was with tears, or simply with the kindness she had always found in those warm brown depths.

"I hate this," he said quietly, "But I have to say it. This... what we've just found out... makes you a suspect. And God, I know you had nothing to do with it, but this isn't in my hands. I'm going to talk to my boss... get him to let me be the one to question you, no matter what he says about it. I don't care if I'm too close to this one." He stepped closer. "I'm not letting anything else happen to you."

Her breath whisked free of her lungs.

"I don't... I don't need your protection," she said quickly. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself, more than him.

He paused, and then nodded in understanding.

"James is being held here overnight. You can go home... he won't be showing up there."

"Thank you," she whispered, and then she escaped out the elevator doors, leaving him standing there on his own, staring after her.

**Reviews will make my already amazing week that much more amazing. Because this girl is going to Virginia Tech! :D Also, the line that James said, about having that one thing attract you to someone, only to hate it about them later, is a line I took from Castle. Which is an absolutely brilliant show... that I don't happen to own either. xD**


	10. Broken

**A/N: Excellent news; my computer is alive and well :) I typed three chapters on it this past weekend to celebrate, and I'm now majorly ahead of schedule on this, which is very exciting. Title song is Broken, by Lifehouse. I can't believe that anyone hasn't heard it, so if _you_ haven't... then I strongly suggest you look it up.  
**

_Chapter 9: Broken_

_The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight_  
_Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time_  
_I am here still waiting though i still have my doubts_  
_I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out_

_I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing_  
_With a broken heart that's still beating_  
_In the pain, there is healing_  
_In your name I find meaning_  
_So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on_  
_I'm barely holdin' on to you_

_The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head_  
_I tried my best to be guarded, I'm an open book instead_  
_I still see your reflection inside of my eyes_  
_That are looking for a purpose, they're still looking for life_

_May 28__th__, 2018_

Booth kicked his shoes off next to the door, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time. Usually, after he let a weight off of his shoulders, he felt light and free. Not this time. This time, the weight had doubled after the words had left his lips and the realization had shadowed its way over her features. He was carrying the pain of both of them now, and he couldn't let it go.

"Dad?"

"Hey," he said tiredly, offering a tiny twitch of a smile in greeting as he tossed his jacket on the back of a chair and rummaged through the fridge.

"...Long day?"

"You could say that," he muttered, not looking up. He located a container of pork Lo Mein in the far right corner and scooped it out, snatching a paper plate from the stack on the counter and dumping out the noodles onto it. He gave the dish a tentative sniff, and decided that it was safe before snapping it into the microwave and setting the time. He kept his eyes on it as it began its hypnotic rotation.

"Dad." He glanced up briefly. "What's up? Something's bothering you."

Trust his son to do exactly what Brennan would have done in this exact situation. At least he knew he had brought him up right, though.

Parker wasn't going to go anywhere with the information. He trusted his son, and knew that if anyone was going to be able to help him, it would probably be family. It was nice, having people who weren't involved, who could listen to his problems. One of the benefits of his son practically being an adult.

"Brennan's husband has been cheating on her," He said lowly, turning to lean his back against the counter as he crossed his arms. The microwave continued to hum in the background.

"...Seriously?" Parker asked, blinking a couple of times. "I... _jeez_. What an _ass_."

Normally, he'd have told his son to watch his language. This time, he was in complete agreement with his use of the term.

"Yeah. He is."

"Did... what happened? She told you today?"

"No," he said with a sigh. The microwave clicked off, and he jumped at the distraction, turning around to tend to the food. They both moved to the living room, settling onto the couch. Neither moved for the remote.

"Dad?"

He closed his eyes, dropping the fork into the noodles and leaning back. "I told _her,"_ he admitted.

"I... _you_ found out?"

"Yeah. It... connected to this case we're working on."

"Is that the one I saw on the news the other day?" At Booth's confused look, he continued, "Veronica something, I think her name was... they found her in the woods."

"No, the woman in the elevator."

"Oh. I saw that in the paper. So... what, then? Bo-Brennan's husband was involved?"

"Not sure, actually," he said with a shake of his head. "But... the victim had a stalker. Who took pictures of her with James."

"Whoa, he was cheating with the _dead woman?"_

Booth nodded, stabbing his fork into the dish and forcing a bite down. He was hungry, but the food tasted bland in his mouth. Unsatisfying. He wasn't really surprised.

"So... did he _kill_ her?"

"He's denying it, of course. That doesn't mean anything, but my gut's telling me he didn't do it. Not himself at least."

"He does have money," Parker pointed out, remembering. "Any possible hit men? I know you've chased down a few in the past, that are probably still in town."

It was still disturbing, whenever he was reminded of how much his son knew about his work and the people that he dealt with.

"I suspected the lawyer, actually, but he had an actual reason to be there. Turns out he co-owns the building," he said, his anger rebuilding at the very thought of the interrogation he had sat in after Brennan had left.

Joel Baleno was on his top ten list of people-to-hate, which said something, because Booth had met a lot of men in his life who had done terrible things. Among them ranked Howard Epps and The Gravedigger.

The arrogant man had calmly provided answers to every one of Booth's questions. And everything he had said had made complete sense. The perfect story to tell any jury in order to gain an acquittal. There was a reason he hated defense lawyers, and this was it... among other things.

_"Why were you there on that night, then? You don't just normally pop in to check how things are running, do you?"_

_ "Actually, I have a poker game with a group of friends every Thursday night. Apartment 12F. You might want to watch where you tread, though... there are a few names on the player list that you might recognize. Judges don't like being questioned, as you're probably well aware."_

_ "Is there a reason Kevin wasn't with you?"_

_ Joel smirked, "He has a terrible poker face when his money is on the line. Never big on gambling, either. That's more my thing."_

_ "So where was your brother that night?"_

_ "Kevin was at a bar. He usually doesn't gamble, but he's pretty good with a pool cue. Once he's got a few down. I picked him up a little past midnight, after we broke up our poker game."_

_ "And what about the murder? The building was crawling with police and the fire department. And that was well before midnight."_

_ "The first thing they did was get everyone out of the building, once the alarms started going off. They weren't going to stop a group of high city officials and well-known members of the community from going home. We went to Hornsby's place to play a few more hands. Didn't know about the murder at that point, of course."_

_ "Hornsby?"_

_ "Judge Frederick Hornsby," Joel filled in for him with a little twitch of his lip. The arrogant bastard._

_ "Did you see anything suspicious?" he ground out. _

_ "No, nothing more suspicious than usual. I leave control of the tenants up to the super... I've met my share of interesting people there."_

_ "And whose apartment was it, that the game was in?"_

_ "Carter Patten. He's the son of another prominent defense attorney who Kev and I went to school with. We set him up with the place when he was in a tight spot."_

_ "And did he come with you, to the judge's?"_

_ "No, he stayed at the building to make sure his apartment was going to be okay. Like I said, we didn't know why we were evacuated. Only that the alarms were going off."_

_ "And you didn't want to stay to make sure the building was safe, seeing as you own it?"_

_ "No offense, Agent Booth... but that place is sort of like pennies. We've got our real eggs laid elsewhere. I've been thinking of selling it, actually, not that it would matter much."_

"So then you don't have any suspects?" Parker was saying.

"We've got someone else entering the building. Angela's working on trying to clarify the image... see if we can get an ID on him."

"Well, she's done it before, right?"

"All the time. But she's not sure if it's going to work. I would have liked to have a solid suspect in custody."

"You still don't know about James, though, right?"

"I'm holding him more on... spite," he admitted, glancing at his son as if to remind him that it wasn't the _right_ thing to be doing. Parker raised an eyebrow.

"How does Brennan feel about that?"

His son was going to be an excellent profiler someday. He already sounded like a shrink.

"I think she wants to kill him, actually. Angela does, too. So it's probably best that he's in a holding cell for now. And... I couldn't have let him go loose, knowing that Brennan's so out of it right now. She needs time to recover. I'm giving it to her as best as I can."

"Does Nick know?"

One of Booth's biggest regrets was that his son never got to spend time with Brennan's kid. He had always had an image of Parker teaching a younger brother how to rollerblade or throw a football. He and Nick, though, rarely saw each other outside of Jeffersonian picnics.

He suspected Parker felt the same as he did. The few times they'd been around each other, he had shown a real knack for communicating with the younger boy. By the end of that one day, Nick had been trailing him around like he was his greatest idol. It had been one of the greatest moments for Booth in his time as a father.

"I don't think Brennan will tell him. Not for a while, at least. I just... I don't envy her, right now."

"And you wish you could be there."

He could take Sweets' job. He really could.

"Yeah, I do. She's my partner. She's always been my partner."

His son gave him a look that was almost purely Angela, and he looked away, chewing thoughtfully.

"You think they'll split up? I mean... I know I don't know her as well as you, but from the way you talk... I can't see her staying with him."

"I'm sure she's trying to figure that out right now... but it's not for me to say. She's changed over the years; she might surprise us. I'd be happy to see him gone, though, after this."

Parker looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit his tongue and simply nodded.

A knock sounded on the door, and Booth stoop up, frowning as he set his dish down on the coffee table and moved to peer through the peep hole. Eyebrows going up in surprise, he opened the door to Angela, who was standing on the other side with a decidedly unhappy expression on her face.

He tried to remember the last time she had dropped in on him, and realized he couldn't. He was barely even aware that she knew where he _lived_.

"Ange, what's wrong?"

A shadow fell next to his, and Parker stepped up behind him, peering around his shoulder.

Her eyes flicked between their two faces, settling on Booth's.

"I'm worried about Brennan," she said without preamble. "Can I..?"

"Yes, of course," Booth said quickly, shifting to the side. Parker jumped out of the way, and the artist stepped past them and into the apartment.

"Wow. You got... tall," Angela commented briefly to Parker, her eyes wide. For a moment, he saw a glimmer of the old Angela as she let a smirk play on her lips, her eyes turning back to Booth's as she said, "I bet he causes all sorts of trouble with the ladies."

Parker turned somewhat pink in the cheeks, but made no move to argue.

They settled back into the living room, Angela taking the chair opposite Booth's seat on the couch and leaning forward. The worried creases had returned to her forehead.

"Sweets called me; he told me she had shown up at the Hoover. I'd be angry at you for not calling me yourself, but given the situation, you're forgiven. I tried calling her, but she won't pick up. I left a bunch of messages, too. I just... I'm worried that she's going to shut herself off again. She's done it before."

If Angela was at all bothered about speaking so openly in front of Parker, she wasn't showing it. The teenager sat on the edge of his couch cushion, looking for all the world like he wanted to be invisible so he could listen to everything without being told to go to his room.

Booth chose to simply ignore his presence, knowing that it would work the best for both of them.

"I know. I just really think that right now... she needs time to process. Which is the only reason why I'm not over there myself."

"Booth, you didn't see her the last time something like this happened. I know it's not the same thing, because you were dead and James purposefully broke her heart... but they both equate to the same thing. What happened? I need to... I need to know what she's going through right now. Sweets said you were in the observation room, and you wouldn't let him in."

There had been no chance in hell that he'd have let the shrink in to watch Brennan's most painful moments. Which was probably why Angela didn't sound at all accusatory when she said it. Just desperate for information.

If there was anyone that Booth would have been okay with being there, though, it would have been Angela. She was Brennan's best friend; he trusted her with Brennan's life, and knew she would never do anything to hurt either of them.

"James basically told her that he stopped loving her a year ago. And several other things that tempted me to sacrifice my job for the satisfaction of messing up his face."

Angela swallowed harshly. Parker was still sitting stone-still, and Booth suddenly realized that that last part probably hadn't been a good idea in his son's presence. He didn't need to start being a bad influence, even this late in the game. Violence wasn't the answer; that's what he'd always preached. It didn't look good when he started acting like a hypocrite.

"Parker, why don't you go get something to eat? You haven't had supper yet, have you?"

The kid's face fell in disappointment, and he rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet and strolled out of the room. Booth turned his attention back to Angela.

"Smooth," she commented.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't need to hear this stuff."

"Oh believe me, I get it. I've got three of them. I can't imagine how I'm going to manage when they're teenagers." She shivered at the thought.

"Good luck teaching them all to drive," he said with a slight smile.

"Mm," she hummed with a little nod. "Sounds fun. But Booth... should I go and see what's going on with her? I mean... you saw her last. Would she just be upset with me?"

"Ange, I honestly can't tell you. You know how she is..."

"Yeah, I do," she agreed, sighing and running a hand through her tangled hair as she leaned back into the chair, blowing a breath out towards the ceiling. "You know what, I'm just going to go," she said finally, standing abruptly. "I just... I can't do nothing. Not when I haven't seen her since she found out."

"You'll let me know if anything happens, right?" he said, getting to his feet as well, his anxiety probably written all over his face.

"Of course, Booth. And... I'll see you at work tomorrow, won't I?"

"Yeah. I'll be... I'll be dropping by the lab at some point."

She nodded, and then sucked in a sharp breath and moved to the door. "Thanks," she said, although for what he had no idea. For listening to her? For giving her an excuse to go see her best friend? He simply nodded, and watched her go.

Parker returned to the living room with a plate of nachos, munching on one of them.

"You know, I am eighteen," he commented as he dropped back into his seat and flipped the television on. A baseball game snapped into life on the screen.

"Yeah. You are," Booth said, not apologizing.

"I get it, you know," he said when Booth didn't say anything else.

"What?"

He bit into another nacho. "Wanting to beat someone up because they hurt someone you care about."

Booth swallowed carefully. "You've been in that position?" he asked slowly. It felt like he was reliving a conversation from a few years back, when he had been asking if his son had ever done drugs.

"Close to it," Parker corrected, setting down the dish to meet his gaze attentively. "Some guy wouldn't leave my girlfriend alone at a party. I wasn't there. One of her friends told me about it later."

"And what did you do?" He was almost afraid to ask. It suddenly felt like they had switched roles from their earlier conversation.

"Passed on a message through a friend of mine. The guy got the idea, and I never had to deal with him. I guess... I don't know, I didn't think Clare would approve. She always gets angry when I try to protect her. And then she doesn't understand why I'd be upset when she makes decisions without me."

There was a bitterness there that Booth hadn't been expecting.

"Something wrong with you and Clare?" he asked, frowning.

"Everything's great," Parker said, getting to his feet again. "I've gotta study. See you later."

He took his nachos and disappeared. Booth slumped back on the couch, staring at the television but not seeing the game that was playing on it. Today just kept getting worse.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Angela was more than a little relieved to find Brennan's car in the driveway as she pulled up in front of her friend's home. She has assumed that Brennan would be here, because this was where her son was... but there was every chance that she would have taken Nick and gone somewhere else, somewhere without memories, somewhere outside of DC.

She was hesitant, though, as she climbed out of her car. It was almost ten o'clock. Nick would be in bed, and she couldn't see any lights from the road to indicate that her friend was still up. What if Brennan had gone to sleep, and Angela woke her up?

Still, though, she went to the door, peering through the windows on either side of it, trying to make out movement or light.

Just as she was starting to think that maybe she should leave, the door opened and she jumped in shock, gasping and clutching her chest before she recognized her best friend standing in the light that drifted in from the street lights.

"Bren," she breathed out on a relieved sigh, her eyes roving over the other woman's face, taking in the reddened eyes and the drawn look. All traces of hesitation gone, she stepped over the threshold in an instant and wrapped her arms securely around her shoulders.

Brennan wouldn't have opened the door if she didn't want her there, so she held no qualms about shutting the door behind her and silently leading her friend back around the corner to the living room.

"Nick's sleeping," Bren said shortly, sitting beside her when Angela gave her shoulders a gentle pull.

"Good," Ange said softly. She studied her friend's blank expression, staring across the room, for a long moment before she asked her question. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

She knew Brennan was far from okay... but the question needed to be voiced. And she needed to hear Brennan's answer to it.

"No," Brennan whispered, her voice so soft that Angela almost didn't make out the lone word. "No," she repeated, a little more firmly. "I'm not. Ange..." she shook her head, closing her eyes.

Almost on it's own, Angela's hand strayed up to rest on her friend's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. Bren let out a shaky breath.

"I was right," she said softly, after a moment, a sad, humorless laugh twisting free of her lips.

"About what?" Angela inquired cautiously, knowing that she wasn't going to like the answer, whatever it was.

"That it would never work for me. That..." she gave a shaky, rattling breath, a half-sob shuddering her shoulders. "That no one could ever actually..."

"Bren," Angela whispered, her hand falling down to catch Brennan's and entwine her fingers, squeezing tightly.

"No," Brennan said, stopping her short. "No, Ange. I _was_ right. I mean... all those years, I told myself that it would _never_ work, that love didn't exist, that it was... that it was ridiculous to think that someone could truly be monogamous successfully... and then, then all of you, and _Booth_... you made me think I was _wrong_... and I... I thought you were right, and I let... I let myself _believe_ that... James was different than everyone else... and then he... he just..."

"Shh..." Angela murmured, pulling Brennan sideways into her arms as the first of the tears broke free and rolled swiftly down her pale skin. "Bren, it's going to be okay..."

Another humorless laugh, and it cut through Angela like a cold gale of wind off the ocean. She shivered.

"Would it be okay if it were Hodgins?" she choked out, swiping furiously at her eyes.

Angela opened her mouth and then shut it again. Her eyes hardened. "No, it wouldn't be. You know what, sweetie? Men are _stupid_. That's all there is to it. Stupid, arrogant, _assholes_."

Brennan smiled briefly at the anger that flew off her friend's tongue, and Angela smiled too, in relief. There was some of the old Bren still in there, through all the layers of pain.

"I know you don't want to hear it, sweetie," she tried again, tentatively, "But just because James did this... doesn't mean that you were wrong."

"Why? Because love has worked out so well for me in the past?" she answered bitterly, meeting Angela's eyes with a challenge burning in her own. "There was the guy that tried to recruit me to a cult, then the one that left me behind to sail across the Caribbean, and then – my personal favorite – the one that cut off his brother's _head_ with an _ax_. That's not even including Booth, or Hacker, _or_ James."

Angela wanted to comment on how Brennan had grouped Booth with the others, but one look into her friend's burning eyes, and she knew that now wasn't the time.

"Do you... have any idea what you're going to do, Bren?"

Her friend slowly shook her head. "All I know... is that I'm getting the locks changed."

"Good," Angela answered at once, stiffly nodding her head. "That would be the first thing I would do, too."

"I have... no _idea_ what I'm going to tell Nick. But I know that... James is no longer welcome here. Not now, maybe not ever again."

Angela nodded. She wasn't going to question if she was thinking of getting a divorce. It was too soon to start throwing those questions on her. Especially after the kind of day Brennan must have just gotten through.

"Will you... be coming to work tomorrow?" she tried instead.

"I honestly don't know," she said with a sigh. "I called Cam... she was understanding. And the case... it's still important. I still need to work in the lab, and solve this. No matter what it involves."

Angela bit her lip, her eyes flicking over her friend's face.

"Sweetie?" She waited until she had Brennan's full attention before she continued, "I'm not sure that... you should still _be_ on this case. I mean... don't you think you're a bit compromised?"

Brennan's eyes darkened and her brow furrowed angrily. "James didn't do this. So whoever did, is someone that needs to be caught. I'm perfectly capable of working this just like any other case."

"But how do you know that James wasn't—"

"Because he looked me in the eyes and he said he didn't kill her," she snapped. "I might... I might not have been enough for him, and he might not love me anymore... but I can still tell when he is lying. And he was telling the truth. Therefore, our killer is still out there."

"Bren," she said, shaking her head, "That explanation might work on Booth and his gut... but I don't think the FBI will agree. And when this goes to court..."

"It's fine," she argued. "I was working this case professionally before we discovered the link to James, and I can continue to do so now."

"But—"

_"No._ Okay, Ange? No. This isn't up to you. Maybe," she brushed her hair out of her eyes, looking suddenly tired, "Maybe you should go home now."

It only took a moment for the shock to wear off. And then Angela was protesting.

"I'm not leaving you, sweetie. I just... please try and understand. I'm _worried_ about you."

"I don't need you to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

The familiar line only flared her temper.

"Well, I can't live with that, Bren. I can't just go back across town and pretend like it doesn't hurt me that you're upset, that I can't seem to help you. I care too much to be able to do that."

Brennan scowled, but seemed to accept what she had said, staying silent and leaning back into the cushion behind her.

"Thank you," Ange said softly, taking that as a suitable response in itself. "How about we... talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know... girl stuff, our kids... anything you want to talk about."

"Like you insisted on doing when we were alone while Hodgins and Ja–while _Hodgins_ took the kids camping?"

"Exactly," she agreed, ignoring the way both of them had flinched at the reminder. "We can turn it into a girls' night."

"I don't have any snack food. Or movies. Well... I do have movies. But they're all aimed at four year olds."

Angela laughed. "It's fine. We'll just... improvise."

"And when Nick wakes up in the morning?"

"We'll figure it out then. Just... let's not think about it, okay? This is a fun, relaxing night between friends. That's what we're going to make it into."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully, sucking on her lower lip. They both got to their feet, and Angela moved to go rummage through the kitchen while Brennan sought out blankets from upstairs.

It wasn't ideal, and it wasn't going to erase the pain that today had caused, but at least it was something. Something to hold back the darkness, and keep them both remembering that not everything was wrong in the world. They still had each other, and that wasn't going to change. Angela would make sure of it.

**You know those signs at the zoo that say 'Don't feed the animals'? They don't apply here. Feed me with reviews. And yes, that was my attempt at humor. Feel free to tell me how badly I failed xD**


	11. Gravity

**A/N: Another week, another chapter. I hope you will all enjoy this one. Song is Gravity by Sara Bareilles. I truly love all her music, but this one is right up at the top, and I think it fits this chapter well.  
**

_Chapter 10: Gravity_

_You hold me without touch.  
You keep me without chains.  
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain._

_Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity._  
_Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be._  
_But you're on to me and all over me._

_You loved me 'cause I'm fragile._  
_When I thought that I was strong._  
_But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone_.

_May 29__th__, 2018_

When Brennan awoke in the morning, she was confused for a long moment. She blinked her eyes to clear them of the early-morning fog, and found her back to be stiff and uncomfortable. The room was dark, but it wasn't her office as she had initially concluded. Light streamed through the curtains of her living room, faint but definite. It was early morning; what time, though, she had no clue. So accustomed to finding her alarm clock directly beside her, it took a few seconds for her to remember where the clocks were in this room.

Seven o'clock. Her stomach dropped in that instant moment of alarm, but then the day before rushed back and she dropped back down onto the cushions, letting her arms fall on top of the blanket. Angela was sleeping in the reclining chair not five feet away, her breathing soft and even. A bowl with popcorn remnants sat on the coffee table, the light shining through the plastic and outlining the kernels piled in the bottom.

Her eyes slid shut again, her heart still pounding in her chest despite knowing that she wasn't late for work. In fact, she wasn't even planning on _going _to work today, and as far as she knew... neither was Angela.

James would be in lock-up right now, and she couldn't make herself feel even the slightest bit pitying of his situation. She was a woman of justice, mostly, and she knew from the evidence and what Booth would call her gut that he most likely was not guilty of this murder... and yet, she still liked the idea of him spending a night locked up. Away from her.

Right now, she wasn't even sure how she was ever going to look at his face again without wanting to break his nose. She knew about ten different, very efficient, ways that she could carry it out. And she also knew how to make it look like a complete accident. She could probably actually get away with killing him, to be honest. But that wasn't going to solve anything, no matter how much it seemed like it would make her feel better right now.

She sighed and slowly rubbed her hands up over her face, rolling them over her eyelids. What she wouldn't give to turn back the clock. To find a way to prevent all of this before it happened. Maybe to avoid meeting James at all.

But that would leave her without Nick.

No, she would turn it back just far enough to keep him from starting the affair. Or she would hire a private detective after he had already started, and get the divorce in the works. It would be so much better than realizing that she had been so clueless, so _stupid_, that she had not known for all of this time.

...She was considering impossible scenarios with time machines that didn't exist.

A low moan slipped between her lips, and she moved her hands to massage her temples. She needed to get out of here, and forget about all of it.

In her head, she ran through a list of places that she could go. All of the old ones, like Guatemala and Maluku, were crossed off. She couldn't escape with Nick that way, and she wasn't leaving him with his father. Over her dead body.

Paris would be nice this time of year. Or London. She liked the sound of that. He wouldn't be likely to remember much of the trip when he grew up, but perhaps she'd stay there longer than just for a vacation. Maybe she could spend a couple of months lecturing there. It would be an excuse to avoid everyone, and to figure out where to go from here.

Staying with James was not something she could see herself doing. If they weren't married, she'd have already packed his things, changed the locks, and sent him a text telling him he was never seeing their son again. But as it was, they were married. And these sorts of things involved courts, and lawyers, and custody hearings. Right now, she had to admit that she wasn't prepared to go through that ordeal. But at the same time, she couldn't live under the same roof as him.

Booth would call her when James was released, she was sure of that. And once he did, she would call her husband and tell him that he could come by and gather his belongings. She'd help him find an apartment if necessary, but he wouldn't be living with her and Nick. He just... _wouldn't_. It was out of the question.

_"I used to love you," _his words echoed through her head, and she blinked furiously, staring at the ceiling and trying to clamp down on her emotions. All these years, letting herself see things that she had always refused to in the past, letting herself _feel_ things that she hadn't let in ever before... and this, _this_ was her reward. All the pain that she had been afraid of, all the pain she had been expecting but had forgotten about as the years fell away... had arrived now, unexpected and violent. And she was locked up now in its caged embrace, trapped and helpless.

More than anything, she hated that she had ever believed in love.

It was all Booth's fault, really. For _years_, he had taught her to open her heart. He had made promises and built a bond of trust between them. He had shown her that not everyone leaves, that some people just keep coming back. Some people didn't want to betray her; would do anything to be there for her. And then, when she had been just barely beginning to explore whether or not she actually and truly had feelings for him that went beyond their partnership, beyond their friendship, he had offered her something so amazing, so strong, that everything within her had shattered.

All that time trying to figure out how she felt, and suddenly she had only seconds to make up her mind. She had never been so lost in her life. And looking in his eyes, watching the way he was waiting for a response, she had said the only thing she could. The first rational thought that had come to her mind, to try and stall him, to give herself time. Just a little more time.

His lips on hers had been a wake-up call. A warm, powerful wake-up call. She hadn't wanted him to stop, had wanted to surrender into the moment and let him carry her through whatever came next. He was the gambler. She could let him be her guide.

_"Emotionally distant and cold..."_

_ "We just aren't right for each other..."_

_ "It's not you, it's me..."_

_ "Maybe if you weren't so busy all the time..."_

Only, she couldn't. She couldn't do that to him, couldn't let him think that she could be enough for him, when in the end, she would never give him all that he wanted. And selfishly, she couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes on the day that he figured it out. Figured out just how broken she really was, figured out just what she had hidden in her past... and understood that it would never work out. She didn't want to see that, didn't want to feel that pain. Didn't want to make him feel it with her. She didn't want to destroy the bond that they had forged all these years. He was her best friend. He was the one she could tell anything to, the one she could trust, the one who had her back in any situation. He was the _only_ one that made her feel this way. The only one who ever had. And if it would save him, she would break his heart now, rather than later.

_ "I gotta move on. You know, I gotta... find someone who's... who's gonna love me in... thirty years, or forty, or fifty..."_

She should have been happy when his words came true. After all, wasn't that what she had intended? Hadn't she wanted him to move on without her? Hadn't she wanted him to find someone else who could give him everything he wanted when she could not? She loved him; it only made sense that his happiness came above her own. It was the only reason she had clamped down and held herself together when he had essentially told her he didn't believe she could love him. She had wanted to correct him, more than anything. But she hadn't, because it was for the best that he think that. Anything else... anything else was too complicated.

And yet, seeing him with Hannah had been the most painful thing she could have imagined. It was one thing for someone to tell you they were moving on from you. It was another entirely for them to actually do it. Especially when they did it so quickly. When they didn't even try to find another way.

Even after she had found James and discovered that it was possible to love more than one person in a lifetime, she had wondered about the roads that she and Booth had left unexplored.

What if she had said yes that night? What if he had said yes in that car ride through the rain? What if he hadn't gone to Afghanistan and she hadn't gone to Maluku? What if he had kept trying, rather than taking her answer for what it was and believing that it was how she really felt; believing that she didn't want anything with him when it was all she had ever wanted, all that she knew she couldn't have?

They would never know, now. And this... this was one more heartache added to the list.

There was one thing, though, that she was very certain of. If she _had_ gotten another chance with Booth, if they _had_ become something more... he would never have done this to her. He would never have done what James had.

Angela stirred in the chair, mumbling something unintelligible.

Slowly, Brennan shifted her focus back to the present.

"Good morning," Angela said through a yawn, stretching her arms up above her head and grumbling a few other indistinguishable things. She pushed herself into a sitting position, blinking towards her friend.

"Good morning," Brennan echoed, her voice thick. She cleared her throat. Coffee sounded like an excellent idea.

Angela took a moment to untangle herself from the blankets, but clearly the same thought was on her mind, because she made her way to the kitchen once she was free. Tossing her own blanket aside, Brennan followed, smiling softly to herself. One thing she had always liked about the artist was that she wasn't shy about anything. Be it emotions, sex, or simple courtesy, all the normal social conventions were tossed aside. This meant that Angela treated Brennan's house like it was her own, helping herself to things in the fridge, and, in this case, roaming around in her pajamas.

It was nice; sort of the way Brennan had always imagined it would have been, had she possessed any best friends back in school... and had she been brave enough to invite them to come over. Which would have been very unlikely in any time past the disappearance of her parents.

"Are you... going to the lab today?" she questioned, leaning in the doorway and watching as her friend turned on the coffee pot and got it started, pulling out two cups without even asking if Brennan wanted one or not. It was assumed.

"Probably later," the artist said, her focus on the task. It didn't look like she wanted to meet Brennan's eyes, and she swallowed.

"They all know by now," Brennan stated. It wasn't a question.

"If not now... then shortly, yes," Angela said softly. She tilted her head and met her eyes uncertainly. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I wish it wasn't like this... but with the case... they can't be kept out of it."

She just nodded, not trusting her voice.

She'd been working with her team for well over a decade now. They were as much her family as anyone actually blood-related to her. And she had to admit, she probably trusted them more than she trusted her father and brother. With some things, at least. That being as it was... it hurt, a lot, to think that they would be in the thick of this. That they would know every detail.

Her personal life was meshed with her work, true. On some level, especially with Angela there, it _always_ had been. There were boundaries, though. Things she didn't want them to know, things she wanted to keep to herself. To know that all of them, her closest friends, were privy to what was going on... she couldn't face them.

When she had called Cam to let her know that she wouldn't be in the following day, she had been able to tell that the pathologist already knew why. Booth had probably given her a heads-up. She tried not to let that bother her, because it made perfect rational sense for him to do so, but it still made her chest constrict.

She never wanted pity. And she didn't want to be looked at as some sort of victim. But if she went into work today... that was exactly what she was going to get from a group of people she cared for and deeply respected.

No, she was staying home today.

"It's going to be okay," Angela tried. She didn't sound like she was sure if she believed it, though, and Brennan was almost glad. She hated the faux-reassuring way that people got when bad things happened. Angela couldn't help but still be honest, even if it was only in the tone of her voice. "The team... you know that they're going to be there for you. We always will be. If necessary," she added, a wry smile twisting up the corner of her lips, "We'll help you hide the body."

Brennan couldn't help the short laugh that escaped. "That... won't be necessary."

"You hope," Angela commented with a raised eyebrow. "Don't rule anything out. And if you need any help with anything else, you know I'll be there. I do own a gun now, you know."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Why Hodgins trusts you with it, I honestly don't know."

"Hey, I took lessons with you that summer, remember? I was actually really good."

"Yes. It was almost scary. But really, Ange, I just... want this to all be over. And a murder would not make my problems go away."

"Unfortunately," Angela muttered, turning back to the counter as she poured them both their coffees. She handed Brennan's over silently, and she took a slow sip from it, letting the warmth linger on her tongue and down her throat. It woke her up, even as the soothing scent calmed her senses.

They were quiet for a long time, standing in her kitchen in their pajamas. She had no idea when Nick was going to be up, and she certainly had no clue what she would say if he came down the stairs right then.

When nothing broke the silence but the soft hum of the clock on the wall announcing that it was quarter after, she spoke.

"He called me Bones yesterday." The words were soft, and she stared into the depths of her coffee as she said it, watching the swirls form on the steaming surface as her breath skimmed across it. The dark depths were the color of his eyes on certain days, or when he was thinking really hard about something.

Angela was staring at her, eyes wide. She could feel it; didn't need to look up to know the exact expression on her friend's face.

"...What do you think that..?"

"I don't know," she said, cutting off the question before it could be finished.

She shook her head into the silence, staring out the nearest window, the one on the back door. The yard was dark, the faint sunlight just barely glinting off the leaves on one of the oak trees. It would have been beautiful if she didn't feel so terrible this morning. It was like she'd been run over by a truck last night, and sleeping on the couch certainly hadn't helped matters.

She took another long sip from the coffee mug.

"I don't want things to change," she whispered at last, eyes darting up hesitantly to read Angela's expression. The artist's dark eyes were soft with sympathy.

"I know, Bren," she murmured. "I know. And... this isn't your fault."

She sighed, wishing she could agree.

"You should probably get going. Hodgins will want you home... and doesn't Garrett have to leave for school soon?"

"Yeah," she said. She didn't move.

"Ange, you don't have to stay here for me. I'm perfectly fine on my own. Besides, Nick will be getting up soon. I need to get him ready to go."

Angela's eyebrow shot up and she rested a hand on her hip. Too late, Brennan realized that Angela was unaware of her plans for the day. "And where exactly are you going?"

"I'm not fleeing the country," she said tiredly, knowing exactly why her friend would suspect such a thing. After all, she had been considering it. "I'm just dropping him off with Daisy for the morning and afternoon. Booth... needs to question me. For the record, since I am technically a possible suspect."

Angela didn't look at all pleased with that idea, but she nodded anyways, eyes flicking towards the hallway and then back to her friend's face. She stepped forward, leaving her empty mug on the counter. She had finished her coffee much quicker than Brennan was ever capable of doing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked seriously, searching her eyes and placing a hand tentatively on her shoulder.

"Of course," Brennan replied, shrugging off the question. "If I need anything... I promise to call you."

"Alright," Angela said slowly. "Just... are you sure you don't want me to take Nick? Kate has dance today, and he gets along great with Trace..."

"Daisy already volunteered, and she's right down the street. Besides, you're busy enough as it is. Just... go. Please."

Angela twisted her mouth to the side, looking like she wanted to find another reason to protest, but eventually she just nodded and pulled her into a hug that lasted a little longer than their usual farewells.

"I'll see you soon, right?"

"Of course. I... hope to be back in work by tomorrow."

Another protest formed on the artist's face, but died on her lips. She gave another quick nod, squeezing Brennan's shoulder briefly, and then took her leave.

In the silence that followed, Brennan wasn't sure what to do with herself.

She drifted almost ghost-like back towards the living room, surveying the cleanup that would be necessary. If Angela had remembered, she would have no doubt insisted on helping, but for once, Brennan was glad to be left alone with the mess.

It would give her something to do.

She cleaned up the dishes, pouring soap into the dishwasher and starting that running while she was at it. Her eyes strayed to the clock again as she began to fold up the blankets, straightening the couch cushions and putting the chair back in it's proper position. It was past seven-thirty now, and Nick was sure to wake up any time now. He wasn't a late sleeper; most mornings he'd have been up sooner than this. She wondered if she should go up to check on him, but then decided that that was more likely to wake him up than anything, and turned her attention back to the task at hand.

She was going to have to explain James' absence, without a doubt, but she didn't want to have to explain Angela's visit as well. There was already too much that she needed to figure out how to translate into four-year-old speak. 'Girl time' was a concept she didn't think he'd quite grasp.

She was just shutting the hall closet door when she heard the telltale footsteps overhead. Smiling softly to herself and trying to brush off any traces of her anxiety, she moved back into the kitchen and waited for him.

The television turned on in the living room, and she listened as the station flipped to the usual morning cartoons. Then the footsteps moved into the kitchen.

"Good morning," she greeted him, sipping her coffee and smiling.

"'Morning," he said sleepily, pulling out one of the bar stools and climbing up onto it. His pajamas had space ships on them, and she couldn't help but smile at the sheer simplicity of it. She reminded herself that they probably needed to be washed, though. "Can I have pop tarts?"

"We don't buy those anymore, Nicky," she reminded cautiously. It was a bad idea to feed four year olds sugar packed breakfast food that contained as many unhealthy calories as a double cheeseburger. Nick had disagreed with that, unsurprisingly.

He scowled. "Dad lets me have them," he said firmly.

Brennan's breath gushed out of her, and she struggled for a moment to resolve herself. "Well, what would you say to toast and eggs and bacon, huh?"

Bacon could solve anything; it was something she had learned early on. "Mm, okay. Can I have peanut butter on my toast?"

She chuckled. "Of course."

It was as she was scooping the scrambled eggs out of the pan that he asked the inevitable question: "Where's dad?" His voice was quizzical and confused, and he said it with a little furrow in his brow that looked a lot like the one that she got when she was bewildered or thinking hard.

She closed her eyes, taking a slow and calming breath. It didn't do much good.

"Nick, dad won't be home for a while."

"Did he go on a trip again?"

That would be the easy route. She could just tell him that James had gone halfway around the world and wouldn't be around for a few weeks. She could find a way to explain the lack of phone calls and gifts in the mail, and it would give her time to figure out what to say. Time to find a way to put it in terms that he would understand, that wouldn't ruin his perception of his father. He was far too young for that, no matter what James might be capable of, or how terrible of a father it might make him that he had betrayed their family.

But the easy road was not one she could take. Nick was a smart kid, and he'd keep asking questions until he got real answers.

"You know what we talked about, how I work to put bad guys away?"

"Yeah," the boy answered, still confused, but now paying close attention.

"Well, dad knew someone who was... killed."

Nick's eyes went wide.

"So," she continued, "He has to help the police find out what happened. He's... very busy. He won't be around for a while."

"So he's like you," Nick said, "He's going to solve the case!"

The side of her that had been betrayed wanted to correct him. But her motherly side made her smile softly. "In a way, yes."

When things took another step, then she would explain the concept of 'separation' to him. And she'd have to go through all those motions that she had heard about, had seen in other people. She'd have to tell him that just because she and James weren't together, it didn't mean they didn't both still love him. She'd have to make sure he knew it wasn't his fault, that this had nothing to do with him. And one day, when he was older, he would ask the real reason.

And she would tell him, so long as she thought he was ready for it.

Turning her back and recomposing her face, she finished plating his breakfast.

"I have to go help with the case later this morning," she told him, unconsciously finding her phone on the counter. Booth would probably call when it got a little later. "You're going to spend the afternoon at Daisy's."

Nick made a face. "Her house smells like lemons."

Brennan smiled tightly. "Lemons smell nice, though, don't they?"

"Taylor's no fun, though. He just wants to look at picture books all day. It's _boring_."

"I know he's younger than you, but think of all the things you could teach him. I bet he'd love to see that magic trick Uncle Hodgins' taught you."

Nick stabbed his fork unevenly into his eggs, pushing them around the plate. She closed her eyes and turned back to the counter, feeling bad but knowing that he was just being difficult. She pulled her own toast out of the toaster and covered it with jam, pulling out the stool opposite her son.

"I have the day off," she said, knowing that would probably cheer him up. As expected, his head perked up immediately, his food forgotten. "So, I figured that after I get back and pick you up from Daisy's, we could get milkshakes and then pick up some Chinese food? What do you say, movie night?"

"Yes!" he said at once, his small head bobbing up and down. His hair flopped in his eyes. Maybe she should give that a trim this coming weekend. Although she had to say, it did look rather cute at it's current length. And it highlighted the fact that his hair was the same color as hers, with just a bit more auburn in it. It made him look like her, and she loved that... the connection there.

She had no clue how he was going to cope when he found out that he wouldn't be seeing his father anymore. And in the back of her mind, she wondered if he would blame her for it. She bit her lip at the thought, staving back the involuntary tightening in her throat.

"Mom?" he asked, his head tilted to the side. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said swiftly, smiling reassuringly and quickly taking a bite of her toast.

He was still looking at her weirdly, but he seemed to recover quickly, because the next moment he was asking if they could play Monopoly with their movie night.

It was going on nine o'clock when her cell phone finally buzzed across the counter. The kitchen was cleaned up from breakfast and Nick was comfortably seated in the other room watching ancient reruns of the Looney Tunes.

"Brennan," she said briskly, pretending she had no clue who would be calling.

"Hey, it's me," Booth's voice greeted her. "Are you... busy?"

"Not at all," she answered, hearing the uneasiness in his tone. He had no clue to act around her right now, and to be honest, she had really no clue of how to act around him. She wanted to ask what was going on with James, and if he had found anything new, but she stopped herself.

"Could you... meet me in my office. In... a half hour?"

"I'll be there. I just need to drop Nick of at Daisy's."

"Oh," he said. It sounded like he had forgotten that she would have to make arrangements for her son. "Uh... okay. I'll see you then."

She hung up, shoving the phone in her pocket. "Nick?" she called into the other room. They were both dressed and ready. Now it was only a matter of getting him out the door. "Time to go!"

He moaned a protest that she didn't fully hear, and she moved to stand in the doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

"Move it, mister," he ordered.

He grumbled as he got up, shuffling his feet out of the living room. Shaking her head, she crossed the room and flicked off the television set, following him to the main hallway.

It was warm out, so she forwent the coats, opening the door and ushering him out into the crisp air.

"When are you coming to pick me up?" he demanded as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Whenever I finish," she answered. It was the sort of answer that her son hated, but she didn't have a better one available.

In the mirror, she saw him pout.

"I'll call ahead," she promised, to alleviate his annoyance.

He still looked put-out when they pulled into Daisy's driveway, but at her reminder of how they would spend the rest of the day, he brightened somewhat.

"Temperance," Daisy said warmly, stepping out onto the porch. Taylor, ever the shy one, peered around the doorframe, but didn't follow.

They had gotten on a first-name basis after Daisy stopped working at the lab, and they started helping each other out with mom-related things. It was a strange concept, when she thought of it. Years ago, if anyone had suggested the idea, she'd have thought they were in need of mental help.

"Thank you so much," she said warmly in response. "I really appreciate this." She undid the last strap on her son's car seat, and he hopped out and headed straight for the door.

"I smell _cookies!"_ he said excitedly.

Brennan chuckled. "Well, you've won him over," she commented.

"I'm glad," Daisy said, beaming. "And it's really no trouble at all. I love having him around... it's good for Taylor to have some little friends to socialize with. He's so quiet," she added in a softer voice, glancing back over her shoulder. Nick had disappeared inside, but Taylor was still clinging to the doorframe. Brennan claimed to have taught her son manners, but an observer would never know. He was probably stuffing his face with the cookies right now. She almost groaned at the thought.

"I hope he doesn't cause any trouble for you," she murmured, shaking her head. "I'll call when I'm on my way back. It shouldn't be long."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you later!"

Daisy, at least, seemed unaware of what was going on. She was a terrible actress; she wore her emotions all over her sleeve. If she was aware of the reason Brennan needed to leave Nick there, she had gained an entirely new skill set overnight. Sweets knew, though, so he must be doing a good job of keeping it from her for the time being. She was grateful.

Alone again on the ride back towards the Hoover, Brennan felt much like she had in the wake of Angela's departure that morning. Nervous, and too full of energy. She would be facing Booth shortly, and even though he was already aware of what was going on... she just didn't want to see the look on his face. The pity that she would find there. The care that he shouldn't be showing towards her, because he had no reason to after all this time.

Why couldn't he have found someone else, after Hannah, and gone on with his life? Why did he have to keep making her feel guilty for being the one to find a way to go on without _him, _when he had done it first?

As expected, he looked anxious when she knocked on his office door. His head snapped up, as if surprised at her arrival, and then he quickly stood up, shoving his chair in.

"Hey," he said, almost breathlessly. "I thought that... maybe we could go somewhere else. I mean, this isn't a formal interview. It's not... I'm not interrogating you."

"You're office is fine," she said with a frown. "You're doing your job."

"Right. Right, we'll just... get it over with, then." He slowly settled back into his chair, and she pulled the stiff-backed one away from the wall and set it in front of his desk, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers on the desk as she waited for him.

He shuffled some papers, looking like he very much wished she'd taken him up on his offer.

"Is he still in lock up?" she questioned. For some reason, she suddenly couldn't get herself to say his name.

"Technically we can keep him for seventy-two hours, but the lawyer boys might get a little bit testy if we try that. We're letting him go in a few hours."

She nodded. "Has he... said anything else?"

Booth clenched his jaw. "Nothing pertinent. But as far as we can see, he didn't kill her. The evidence doesn't add up, but if... you could confirm his alibi."

"As far as I know, he was home. Seeing as I apparently wasn't aware of a lot of things, though, it's possible he might have been able to get away in the middle of the night and return before I woke up. He probably had enough practice," she added softly, glancing away.

"As, uh... far as we can see, he only met Maggie during work hours," Booth provided cautiously.

She nodded. The detail closed a few gaps, but didn't make her feel any better.

"And you were home all night?" he questioned, his focus on the paper in front of him now, pen poised.

"Yes," she answered stiffly. Maybe it would have been better if another agent had done this. It would have eased the awkwardness. It was uncomfortable discussing this with anyone, but perhaps with someone who she didn't know, whose judgment didn't matter to her, it would have been easier to get through.

Booth seemed to be thinking the same thing, or at least on similar lines.

"You had... no knowledge that your husband was engaged in... an affair with Margaret Singer?"

She rolled her tongue over her lips. "No," she said quietly, looking at the wall, the carpet, his desk, even his hand as it scraped the pen across the paper. Anything but his face.

"You had... no suspicions?"

"I... no. Well..." she frowned, feeling her face reddening, which it almost never did. She wished he'd stop looking at her. His pen had stopped moving, and she could feel his gaze burning into her.

"Brennan?"

He was back to using her last name. She was semi-relieved, but at the same time as it was safe ground... it suddenly made her so aware of the fact that it _wasn't_ her nickname. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue; maybe he hadn't actually intended to use it the other day.

"Things haven't exactly been... perfect." He knew all this from the interrogation yesterday. He'd been watching from the other side of the mirror. He had heard her questions, and his answers. Especially his answers. "I just thought it was... about me. Not because he was with... someone else."

Booth's hand twitched a centimeter closer to hers. She removed hers from the desk, letting it fall in her lap. She didn't need his comfort. Didn't want him to feel like he needed to give it.

She really should have requested to be questioned by another agent. _Any _other agent.

"How well did you know Margaret Singer?"

"Just as his secretary. She was always... very nice to me." Sudden realization washed over her, and the atmosphere of an interview vanished completely. "Booth, do you think that's why she was in the Diner that night?"

He had dropped the pen, and was now giving her a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... the blackmail. It said that... if she wanted it to remain a secret, she had to pay ten thousand dollars."

"Which she didn't do," Booth filled in, catching on.

"And she wasn't going to let it come out. She was... she was going to tell on her own. She was... going to tell _me_ about the affair. But... why didn't she, then? If she was in there, and I was in there..?"

"I imagine it wouldn't have been very easy," he reasoned. "The waitress we talked to said she looked anxious, remember? Worried. Nervous. She was trying to work up the courage to talk to you, to tell you the truth."

"And then someone killed her before she could. Oh, God." Another horrible idea occurred to her. "Booth, you don't think that's why someone killed her? Because she was there to tell me?"

"That's why we thought James might have done it. But really... he's the only one that would have motivation to do it for that reason. Unless there's some other element we haven't found yet. Chances are, there's other motive here."

Brennan nodded, only slightly relieved. She didn't hate Maggie for what she had done. The woman had ended up dead, after all, and from what they'd uncovered before they'd found out who the affair was with... she had been feeling guilty about it. And she had wanted to tell the truth. No, she didn't blame the secretary. She blamed James. Because he was the one who had ultimately made the choice. Brennan had never believed in the concept of women seducing men away from their wives. In order for that to happen... the man had to be looking to stray. And clearly, _James_ had been looking to stray. She didn't doubt that he had instigated the affair. In fact, she was almost certain of it.

"We should look further into the blackmailing angle," she said thoughtfully. "You said you thought that the stalker, who admitted to being the blackmailer, did it because he wanted the affair to end? Aren't stalkers known to be delusional?"

"He seemed pretty solid, but I'll look into it. Listen, you... can't be on this anymore."

"What?" she gaped at him, her eyes hardening.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said carefully. "This... isn't my call. This came from over my head. I can't let you back in the field with me. You can't even be on this at the lab. I mean... you remember back when Hodgins had that connection to that woman, with the whole best friend, husband, triangle-thing he had going on? Caroline almost _killed_ him, and me, for letting him touch so much evidence. They can't question your objectivity on the stuff that led us to this point, and I'll make sure they don't... but from this point on, you can't go near anything."

"Booth," she started to protest, but he held up a finger to silence her.

"I wish it wasn't like this. I mean... I really want to keep working this one with you. But I just... we can't risk this one getting tossed out because some defense lawyer smudges garbage in our faces. And you know they'll try it."

She huffed out a sigh, knowing he was right. She was too close to this one. It only made her want to work on it more, but with Booth siding against her... she didn't stand much of a chance.

"You've already done a lot to help," he insisted. "And... you trained Harper. He should be able to give us anything else we might need. Honestly, though, I think a lot of the rest of this is going to be focused in the evidence we've already found. We just need the missing link. _I _need the missing link," he corrected, wincing apologetically.

She nodded, her jaw set. She wasn't going to argue on something that made sense, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

"Listen, do you... want to go grab a bite to eat? I mean, it's nearly lunchtime, and..."

"No thanks," she said, cutting him off. She was going to get Nick and go for lunch, but she didn't tell him that. What he needed to get from her refusal was that she wasn't interested. Not 'sorry, but I have plans with my son.'

He needed to stop caring. She _needed_ him to stop caring.

She was out of his office before he could say anything else, and her mind was spinning as she took the elevator back down, this time alone.

When she had turned him down, it could very well have been the worst decision of her life. But she had done it because she didn't want to hurt him in the future. She hadn't wanted to start something only to watch it fall apart. She had thought that... at least if they stopped there, there would be a question of possible success. She wouldn't have to know for sure, that they wouldn't have worked out, even though she was almost certain that she was correct about how it all would have ended.

In turning him down, in trying to protect him, she had tried to accept him moving on. Her heart had begged her not to let it happen, and her head had insisted that it was the right thing to do, for both of them. She had been right, when she told him she didn't have his kind of open heart. She would have made some sort of decision, at some point, that would have made him look at her differently. Would have made him hate her.

Now, he was trying to care again. He was trying to _be there_ for her. But if he did that, if he got too close, if he opened up all those old wounds and let her feel those emotions for him that she had long ago locked away in a tiny box and tried to forget about... it would all go to hell. If he asked her that same question, if he gave her that opportunity again – and she had no doubt that it would happen, were she to let him keep being nice to her and working his way back into her life – then she wouldn't be able to shut it off. She would dive straight in, gratefully, and she would make those same mistakes she'd been afraid of the first time around. It would still destroy them, just seven years later than it would have the first time around. The fallout, though, would be just as disastrous. Just as painful, for both of them.

And if what had happened with James was any indication, added onto the long list of her failed relationships, it was clear that she wasn't _meant_ to be with anyone. It wasn't that she was finding the wrong guys. It was that she was the wrong girl. She was the common denominator in every situation that ended horribly.

No, she wouldn't let it happen. Regardless of what happened with James, regardless of how it all fell out in the end, and if she found herself alone once more... that was how she intended to stay. No more relationships, no more men who disappointed her. No more betrayal and abandonment. No more opportunity for her to fail and destroy something she cared about. She would be alone, with Nick, and that would be all she needed to be happy.

Booth would find some way to move on. Eventually, if she kept him blocked out long enough, he would stumble into someone new, and he would start something and disappear from her life.

At the thought, her heart constricting into her chest.

_No,_ she told herself, _It's a good thing. I want him to move away. Start a family. I don't want to see him every day anymore... I don't want to see him and remember how I hurt him, how I'll continue hurting him. I can't do that anymore. I can't._

The elevator opened, and she took a deep breath before stepping into the chilly air of the parking garage. She pulled out her cell phone, clearing her throat and convincing herself that her voice was going to be steady enough. She would call Daisy, tell her she was on her way.

And then she would take her son for a burger and milkshake. And she would forget about everything else, and imagine the world through the magic-filled gaze of a four year old boy who she loved more than anything else in the world.

**I love all feedback, so let me know what you thought, what you think is coming next... anything, really, will make me ridiculously happy. **


	12. Fountain

**A/N: Welcome back everyone! Thank you all so much for the reviews; I love each and every one of them so much. Title for this one comes from Fountain, by Sara Lov. Most of you should be familiar with it; it was featured at the end of Verdict in the Story, and is a beautiful and powerful song that I can't get enough of. **

_Chapter 11: Fountain_

_Fountain, Fountain  
We are the same  
Fountain, Fountain  
We are the same_

_All that anyone ever has for you_  
_Are the things you reflect back to them_

_Don't you wish you could throw your pennies back at them?_  
_Don't you wish you could throw your pennies back at them?_  
_Back at them_  
_At them_

_Fountain, fountain_  
_We are the same_  
_Fountain, fountain_  
_We are the same_

_It is so beautiful how you remain_

_May 29__th__, 2018_

Booth paced across his kitchen, eyeing the timer on the microwave and trying not to get tenser with every pulsing tick that it gave off. In the other room, he could hear Parker on his cell phone, arguing in a low voice. He closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face. His frozen pizza still had five minutes left on it. He glanced through the viewer, and observed the un-melted cheese with a scowl.

"No, that's not what I – will you _please _just – _Clara –"_

Parker passed by the entrance to the kitchen, groaning loudly and dropping the phone away from his face as he stared up at the ceiling for a long moment. Booth could hear Clara's voice coming through the receiver before Parker lifted it up again.

"Listen, okay? If you _go_, then what are we-"

He moved away again, and his voice faded out, the frustration still tenable in the tone of his voice.

It didn't take a genius to know that something had clearly changed in his son's relationship. He had known that there was a problem the other day, when Parker had left suddenly with something obviously on his mind. But he hadn't been aware of the reason why. He still wasn't, actually. And the part that was bothering him the most was that he didn't think his son was _going_ to tell him what was going on. He wasn't sure if it would even be a good idea to ask.

Which was why he had currently sheltered himself in the kitchen, waiting out the storm and hoping his son would be off the phone by the time he was finished eating.

It really shouldn't have surprised him much, though. It wasn't like he was a very inspirational source of advice. His son had gotten a front row seat to his fallout after everything went to hell with Brennan. He wasn't exactly the role model he had always hoped to be.

At the moment, though, he had to accept that his situation was probably easier than the one that his partner was facing. James was free and gone as of a few minutes before Booth had left for lunch, so no doubt he would be at Brennan's any moment now. He'd called to give her the heads-up, but he doubted that much could prepare her for dealing with what was coming. Especially with Nicholas in tow.

And he wasn't even sure who he felt worse for; Brennan or her son. It was different, in both of their cases. Brennan he felt terrible for because of the obvious betrayal and the pain that would come with that. She had always had a hard time opening her heart; it had taken him years to make her even consider the possibility that she could love and be loved without getting hurt. And now that she had done so, had lived the life he had prepared her for – with someone else – it had ultimately let her down. Nick, though, wouldn't be aware of what was going on. No matter how abrupt and honest Brennan could be, she was different with her son. He wouldn't be aware of the situation any more than he had to be, and there was no way he would know that James had been unfaithful. Which would, undoubtedly, continue to hurt Brennan more. It was one thing, with him and their coworkers. Anyone would understand any decision she made, especially if she left James because of what he had done. But a four year old couldn't even be told the reasoning. All he would know was that things had changed.

Booth found himself somewhat grateful of the situation Parker had grown up with. He had understood from a young age that his parents were not together, but they both loved him. Nick had grown up with his parents together. If and when that changed, he would be incredibly confused, and Brennan would be powerless to give him the true reasoning.

And then the case itself was in a bit of a rut. The fingerprints on the closet door handle had come back as inconclusive; enough different people had touched it, so getting anything useful would have been nearly impossible. And as for prints on the bat itself, the thing had been wiped mostly clean. A partial had been found, but they had cleared it as belonging to Rory, and he'd already admitted to coming into contact with it. That, and he had no motive, and less guts.

James had been released because there was nothing to hold him on, and no matter how much Booth despised the man at the moment, his instincts were telling him that James was telling the truth when he said he hadn't killed her. The smug look on his face as he did so, though, was forever imprinted in Booth's mind. He had wanted to punch it off of him, and show him just what he really thought of him.

His words, saying that if Booth had been in his shoes, he'd have done the same… they crashed over him again, like a wave over the edge of a ship in the middle of a storm, and he felt the world shift around him. Nothing could have ever made him treat Brennan like that, even if she hurt him, even if their relationship fell apart; no matter what happened, he could never have maliciously gone about the way James had, without even feeling bad about it in the aftermath. Booth would have rather died than betray her, if he had ever been given the chance to hold her heart as fully as James had.

Parker had been filled in, when Booth had arrived home. It wouldn't have been possible to convince him that something wasn't devastatingly wrong, with the way his face probably looked, and so he had just spilled it out to his son, and told him what was going on with Brennan. It wasn't as difficult as it had been to tell Angela; that had felt almost like going behind her back. But telling Parker was different, and Brennan already knew now, as well. It made it easier, and he had been surprised at how much better he felt once the words were once more off of his chest, and he had his son nodding in fervent agreement with everything he was saying.

It hadn't been long after that that Parker's cell phone had gone off on him, though, and landed them in their present situation.

The microwave dinged, and Booth let out a relieved sigh and popped the door open, rescuing his pizza from the steamy depths and dropping it from his burning fingers into the waiting dish. He licked the sauce off his skin, wincing, and dragged himself over to a seat at the table, cutting another sidelong glance towards the living room. Parker was standing leaned against the side wall now, talking lowly. It sounded less like an argument now, and more like a desperate conversation.

Carefully, Booth tuned him out and gave his pizza far more interest than it really deserved. It was the low quality stuff, with the cardboard-flavored crust. He tried to bring himself to care, but found himself just eating it to fill the space. At least the cheese wasn't fuzzy like the last time.

In all honesty, though, he was lucky to still be on this case, he thought as he leaned back in his chair. It wasn't a secret, how close he had been to Brennan in the better days. A few years back, one of the other agents, Cooper, had even told him that there had been an office pool going around about it for a long time, and that he had lost a large pile of money when she got herself married to James.

Tanner had called him to his office, in the hour before James was released, and they had discussed the matter at length. It had been brought to the Director's attention that Booth might have mixed feelings about the case, and be too personally invested to be objective in the continuing investigation. The first thing Tanner had done was inform him that Brennan was finished. Booth had been expecting it, but it still almost hurt to hear that he was being ordered to not work with her anymore. Initially, Tanner had wanted them both off of the case, but he had been willing to hear Booth's protests against it, and he had seemed impressed that Booth agreed with him about Brennan being taken off of it.

In the end, that had probably played the greatest part in winning him over to the idea of allowing Booth to remain at the lead of the investigation. That, and the fact that it had been seven years since Booth had shown any actual inclination towards Brennan. In public, that was, but it wasn't something Tanner needed to be aware of.

All that mattered to Booth was that he stayed on this case, and solved it for Brennan. She might not be allowed to go near it, but he was going to find out the truth for her, and set things straight once and for all, whether it involved James or not.

Parker stepped into the kitchen, interrupting Booth's silent musing, and cast him a look that clearly said _don't ask_. So Booth turned back towards his food, and listened silently as his son fixed himself his own lunch before taking it to his room. The apartment was strangely silent once he was gone, and Booth chewed thoughtfully before finally tossing the second half of his meal away.

He wasn't hungry anyways, and there was only so much cardboard a man could take. That, and the entire ordeal with Brennan was still hitting his stomach.

His eyes landed on the clock, and he made up his mind. He scrawled a quick note for Parker, deciding that it was safer than knocking on his bedroom door to let him know, and headed out the door.

There wasn't much good for him to do on his own at this point. He needed another opinion–-about a couple of things, actually. The case was one of them, but Brennan was right up there at the top of his list as well. Sweets already knew what was going on; he was in the loop about everything. That, and he was a shrink. Right now, he could serve multiple purposes, even if he wasn't afraid of Booth anymore, and was perfectly capable of growing a beard.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"So… you're here to get help. From me," Sweets clarified, his eyebrow raised almost comically high on his forehead.

"Yes," Booth repeated firmly. "Your receptionist said you were free, Sweets. So, let's get this going, so I can be out of here."

"But you don't really want to get out of here. You wouldn't have come if you were in such a rush to _leave_."

He ground his teeth together. "Can you please just help me?"

"Alright, alright, of course," Sweets said agreeably, grinning as he dropped into his usual chair. Booth seated himself gingerly on the edge of his old spot on the couch. It had been a while since he had been here. He still got help from Sweets on cases, but usually he called the psychologist to _his_ office, or he just poked his head in the door to ask him to come to the lab with him to work on a profile. He hadn't been in an actual session-like atmosphere in a very long time.

Sweets was looking at him expectantly, and he cleared his throat.

"So, I gave you the case file back when this was just starting."

"Yes, you did."

"Since we found out about… James… has anything changed? I mean, do you think he's involved… what sort of a reading do you get on this guy?"

"I'm not a carnival act," Sweets reminded him. "I don't get 'readings.' But from James' behavior, I can give you a few things, psychologically speaking. He acts sorry that she is dead, which I do see as being completely sincere. And he's also completely unbothered by what he's done. I get that from the way he, uh, addressed Doctor Brennan."

"So you watched the recording?"

"Naturally. I won't say it was easy, but FBI policy requires interrogations to be recorded for these very reasons. And it proved useful. James didn't kill his… he didn't kill Ms. Singer. And he is sorry she's dead. But at the same time… he's glad she's gone."

"That… contradicts, Sweets."

"I'm aware. It's a mixture of emotions that he's giving off. The pain is sincere. He did possess strong feelings for Ms. Singer, probably right up until her death. But now that she's gone, he feels free. He no longer needs to possess feelings for anyone, because he's exposed. And he is free to… end things with Brennan, as well."

"So you think he'll pursue that?"

"Without a doubt, if Brennan doesn't beat him to it." The psychologist shook his head sadly. "Booth, I can't say I like the man. He's… infuriating, in fact—but that doesn't change my assessment. He wasn't the one that bludgeoned her head in."

"Is that just from his behavior in the interrogation room, or something else?"

He had guessed right, because Sweets' expression changed. "No, it's something else. The killing almost seemed impersonal. There was anger there, for it to be done with such ferocity, and it almost appears to be a crime of passion because of the weapon's accessibility at the scene, but something still seems off about it. I get the feeling that this wasn't spontaneous. And James would have to be a much better liar than I believe him to be, for him to pull off this much deceit."

"Alright then, if we've ruled him out… then who's next? Who else is there?"

"The business partner has ample motive; this is likely to damage the business, once it hits the news. And you know it will."

Booth winced at the very idea. "Brennan's not going to handle that well," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"I know," Sweets agreed. "But… it's unlikely that she will seek aid from any of us during this time."

"What, you're profiling her now?" Booth asked, his tone angry even though he felt somewhat relieved that Sweets had insight into this as well. It was the other thing he needed so desperately to ask about, but hadn't known how.

"Not profiling her so much as speaking what I know from her character. Brennan is a private person, who deals with pain internally. I've observed first-hand, and I know how she behaves. This is going to be… a very hard time for her. But she won't know how to ask for help, because she sees this as a failure on her own part. Her responses in the interrogation room tell me that more than anything else."

"You're saying Brennan blames herself for James cheating on her?" Booth demanded incredulously.

"Unfortunately, yes. And I'm surprised you weren't expecting it, actually."

Booth made a sound in the back of his throat, but Sweets was speaking again before could even begin to argue.

"We both know that she didn't have the easiest time opening up to the idea of love, or long-term commitment to another person. Her past relationships haven't given her much reason to have faith in anyone, especially because of what her parents caused by leaving her at such a vulnerable age."

Booth breathed out a harsh sigh and leaned back, wishing Sweets wouldn't go down this particular path. He hated digging into Brennan's life with Sweets. It was one thing to try and help her, another entirely to listen to the shrink picking apart her brain. It was bad enough when she was present for it; it almost seemed worse without her, like they were rifling through her diary or something. It wasn't right.

"Booth," Sweets said, sensing his discomfort, "This is just the truth. I'm not trying to hurt anyone here. My point is, whether she's aware of it or not, Brennan was expecting this to happen eventually. She's been expecting it ever since she agreed to be in a relationship with him, actually. And not just because it's him, either, before you start thinking it. I suspect she would feel the exact same way if she had entered a relationship with you instead."

In an instant, Booth was on his feet and pacing. The atmosphere in the room crackled, the air tense.

Sweets knew he had said something wrong, because he looked almost frightened – the way he used to, way back at the beginning of their sessions – as he watched Booth stride back and forth up the length of the office.

"Could you explain what part of what I just said upset you?" Sweets asked hesitantly when it became clear that Booth wasn't going to say it himself.

"Everything," Booth said, steaming. "I am _nothing_ like James. What Brennan and I had, what we were, before all of this… I'm _not_ him. I wouldn't do things the way he did, and she wouldn't have… she wouldn't have thought that way. She wouldn't have _had_ to."

"I'm not saying I know what would have happened," Sweets tried. "I'm just positing a likely scenario off of her past actions and her actions now, that might have conformed to a possible situation. And when did I ever suggest that you would have followed James' actions?"

"You didn't," Booth muttered.

Realization dawned on the psychologist's face, and suddenly Booth wanted to hit him almost as much as he wanted to hit James.

"But someone else did. Was it James? Or Brennan?"

"James," Booth snapped, his anger not improving with the implication that Brennan herself might have suggested such a thing. All these years later, and all this pain he was carrying with him… and the thing that could still make him shatter would be for Brennan to tell him herself that she thought he could ever betray her.

Sweets was nodding thoughtfully.

"I should go," Booth said swiftly. The air in the room was heavy; it was choking him. He wanted to get out, and get some room to think. He wanted to get Sweets out of his head, because that wasn't what he'd come here for at all. He'd wanted help, and he hadn't gotten much at all. If anything, he felt a lot worse than when he'd arrived. The sick feeling was back, festering in the pit of his stomach.

He didn't wait for Sweets' response, because he didn't doubt that the shrink would have attempted to make him stay to talk about these reactions and the reasons for them.

He fled from the office.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was gloriously simple, spending time with her son. The world almost shrank away into a tiny, shining bubble when she was with him; seeing the world through his eyes was refreshing in only the best of ways. It made Brennan wonder what she had felt like when she was his age; she had almost no memories left from her childhood, and more and more in the past few years she had found herself regretting that.

There had been a time when she had remembered all of it. Birthdays, vacations, simple afternoons in the backyard. There were still scraps there. A scent, a sound, a certain photograph, would evoke the memory into the edges of her mind, make her close her eyes and try to recapture it. But for some reason, it never worked. It probably had something to do with how she had forced herself to move on with an iron-will that some might envy. It had worked, clearly. Her teenage self, furious at the world, hating her life and everyone that had betrayed her, hadn't wanted to dream about the past anymore. Not after she had hardened to the world and realized that there was no such thing as unconditional love, and the family life she had been experiencing had all been some sort of lie. Every foster home she was in had taught her that life wasn't like that. There was unrest and poverty and hunger and pain. The world held some of the most horrible people, and justice… well, justice didn't care about her. Justice was cruel; it was the sound of the gavel banging down and denying her petition to free herself from the system at only sixteen.

Staring at Nicholas, at her beautiful child that looked so much like her and wanted to explore and learn and play games and drink milkshakes, she could remember more glimpses of her old life. But not enough. And so she attempted to live through him, to pick up on the things that fascinated him, and try to imagine what it might be like, to wonder for the first time why grass was green or where apples came from. And she swore to herself that he wouldn't lead a life like hers.

She had promised herself, in fact, from day one, that he was going to grow up in a loving and structure family with no dark secrets and nothing but love and care to provide.

And yet, here she was, trying to pretend to be as carefree as he was while he sucked on a lollipop and sat on the floor surrounded by DVDs, crouched over as he tried to pick the 'best' one for them to watch next. It was so hard to pretend that nothing was wrong, that the future she had imagined when she had held him in her arms for the first time in that hospital bed… had all been made up of the very lies she had sworn he would never have to face.

Now, she'd already started weaving him into it, and there was nothing she could do to make that change.

She had sent an email to her lawyer, requesting the proper forms and counseling that would come with navigating the fields of divorce, earlier that same day. Maybe it was soon, but it still didn't seem soon enough.

_The divorce rate in America is fifty percent, _she remembered telling someone, years ago. Had it been Angela, when she had been sharing her interest in possibly marrying Hodgins? Probably. But it didn't matter. The statistic was what was stuck in her head, not the way the memory around it had come about.

Fifty percent. What sort of odds were those, with her history?

This had come from a mile away, and she'd been wearing a blindfold up until the last few yards.

She was still furious with James. Furious about what he had done, furious about the way he'd treated her, furious about the way he had lied. But what infuriated her more than any of that… was how little regard he had held for their son while he was doing it. He didn't love her anymore; he'd said it himself. But rather than attempting to work things out, to try talking to her or going to counseling, _anything_, he had chosen to cheat on her with his secretary. And in doing that, he had to have known that eventually it would come out. And that, when it did, she wouldn't stay with him.

He hadn't even considered where Nick would fall in the middle of the equation. He hadn't thought about the separation, about what their son would think when he got older and found out – as he was bound to – the real reason why his parents had split up.

She still remembered the devastating blow that had come with discovering her parents were criminals. To find out that the people you loved used to sneak out at night to rob banks was one thing, though. Because regardless of what had ended up happening, the one thing Brennan was absolutely certain of was that her parents had loved each other, and had loved her and Russ as well. She couldn't condone their methods, or their behavior, but they had been happily married. Nick wouldn't have that to fall back on. He wouldn't be able to think that, while his parents weren't perfect, at least they had made the right choice to be together. He would look back and see that they had made a mistake. And then he'd have the sorts of questions that she didn't know how to answer.

"How 'bout Tarzan?" Nick said suddenly, dragging her back to the reality of the present, where her son was a four-year-old and didn't need to worry about these sorts of things. She was jealous of his blissful ignorance, of his wonder and ability to see magic in the simplest of things.

Swallowing, she put on a warm smile. "Sounds good. Here, I'll put it in." She took the case from him, and snapped it open. The DVD was just sliding into the player when a key turned in the lock, and she tensed.

Booth had called, twenty minutes ago, to let her know that James was about to be released. Like her, though, he had been under the impression that he wouldn't dare show his face here. Brennan especially had thought he'd have the sense to stay away, given that immediately after hanging up with Booth, she had sent James a text letting him know that he was allowed to pick up his belongings after nine o'clock that night, and no sooner.

It seemed he had chosen not to heed her obvious warning. Now, he was going to show up and disrupt her afternoon with Nick, confusing him unnecessarily.

If her son hadn't been there, she probably would have gone straight to the door and given the sorry son-of-a-bitch a kick right where it hurt. Teach him a lesson that was a little late, but that would make her feel somewhat better.

She couldn't do that, though, and she knew it. He probably knew it, too.

While part of her was still unrealistically hoping that it might be Angela coming to check up on her with the spare key that she had never had to use before, she wasn't at all surprised when James stepped inside and shut the door behind himself. She stood in the doorway to the living room, keeping herself between him and his line of sight on their son, her arms crossed and her glare set almost as a permanent feature across her face.

"Your boyfriend doesn't like me very much," he said lightly, a smile plastered on his face that was so fake it was almost dripping off of him.

"I wasn't aware I had one. Although it would seem reasonable, given that apparently that's the norm in our marriage now, right?"

"Booth," James clarified, as if it wasn't obvious who he was tauntingly referring to in the first place. "He's got quite a temper, you know."

Her anger flared, but she simply ground her teeth together, letting her nails dig into the flesh on her upper arms. Whatever Booth had said or done, he probably shouldn't have. But she couldn't help but feel mildly grateful. Anyone on her side at this point, anyone _against_ James, was someone she could thank.

"Really, now? Last I checked, he only got angry at scumbags and liars."

The retort might have been childish, or immature, but she honestly didn't care. She would have thrown real knives at him, if she could have gotten away with it. For now, words would have to do; they'd always been her greatest weapon. For a long time, they'd been her _only_ weapon.

He shrugged the comment off as if he hadn't even heard her. "I already gave you my reasoning. That's the best you're going to get. Now, I got the impression, from your message, that you want me to move out for now."

She raised an eyebrow. "No, James. Not _for now_. For good."

"I think you missed the part where we both own this place," he pointed out, stepping forward. She moved to occupy more of the doorframe.

"I think you missed the part where we promised to be faithful to one another. And the part where I kept up my side of that, and _you_ didn't."

"Because you made it impossible," he said coldly, his falsely happy demeanor falling away completely. "You told me yourself, years ago. You're not an easy person to get along with, to live with, or to care about. And God knows, I tried. But you were right, when you told me way back then that you didn't know if you'd be able to carry out a long time relationship like this, without it falling apart."

She bit back a sound that wanted to escape from her throat, and blinked hastily. "I didn't know if I would be able to be happy in a situation like this," she corrected. "Me. That whole thing was about _me_. It was never about whether or not you'd get _bored_."

"I didn't get bored. I just got tired of dealing with how much we were lacking emotionally. I mean, there was never a problem with the bedroom."

The tears were harder to fight, suddenly. It was one thing, to wonder if her husband had sought out another woman's company because he had wanted a different experience in bed, or because things had gotten too routine. It was quite another to find out that he had been perfectly happy doing her every night, so long as he could get the emotional pleasure elsewhere, because that was what she hadn't been able to give to him.

"Daddy!" Nick's voice interrupted them. They'd been getting continuously louder, and the obvious warning that her turned back and posture gave, plus the enticement of the movie, hadn't been enough to keep him from coming over to investigate.

"Hey, kiddo," James said, an easy smile spreading across his face. The kind of smile he never gave Brennan anymore. She suddenly wondered if she had been wrong; perhaps James still cared the same amount for their child as he had since the beginning. Perhaps it was only her who he had fallen away from, and not the entirety of their family.

A surge or protectiveness washed over her, and she reached down to put her hands on her son's shoulders, sliding so that he was square in front of her, her arms holding him to her. She glared at James, her eyes blazing with warning.

"Dad just forgot a few things," she said, trying to keep her tone light. She failed terribly, but if Nick noticed, he wasn't showing it. He just nodded, his hair bobbing in his eyes.

James motioned towards the stairs, making his intention clear. She bent down and told Nick to go back to his movie, promising to join him in a few minutes. When he had reluctantly returned to his position in front of the television screen, she followed James up the stairs, and into their room.

His suitcase was right where she had left it, beside the bed. She pointed to it, and stayed in the doorway to watch him pack his things up.

"I'm not leaving forever," he said.

She made a doubtful sound in the back of her throat, and he raised his gaze to meet hers over the shirt he was folding.

"What, you don't think I can win a divorce settlement?"

Her blood ran cold. "What?"

"I had Kevin and Joel start filing the paperwork earlier today. You know they've got some friends in high places… we'll be getting our settlement hearings much more quickly than your average couple. But hey, all the better, right? The sooner this is over with, the sooner you can start over fresh. Booth's a sucker for you, after all. Toss him in bed, you'll be all set so long as you keep him happy. Although, after he's gotten his curiosity satisfied, maybe he'll lose the lost puppy look and figure out the same thing I did. The sex may be good... but it just isn't worth it in the long run."

She barely knew what she was doing, but she heard the crack of the slap and felt the sting on her hand, and found herself standing in front of him with barely any recollection of either walking across the room or raising her hand.

He rubbed his jaw. "Well, that certainly won't hurt my cause," he said with a shrug, tossing the last of his clothing in and zipping up the case. She stood there, a few feet away, breathing heavily, trembling all over.

As he was leaving, though, suitcase in hand, he tossed down the final card in his hand.

"Just to let you know… I'll be suing for custody as well. Don't get too used to this."

Her knees gave way the minute he was out of the room, and she landed heavily on the edge of the mattress, staring down at her shaking fingers until all she could feel was the cold bite of the breeze from the window against the tear tracks down the side of her face, and all she could hear was the dulled sounds of the childhood her son still had to cling to, echoing up the hallways and trying to find shelter in her heart.

**It is actually possible to hate James more than you did prior to this chapter, now isn't it? And odds are, you will hate him even more eventually. *evil smile* As always, feedback brightens my soul. **

**And for anyone with any interest in Castle (which should be all of you, because if you love Bones... there is no way you won't _adore_ Castle. I'm serious. It's not possible to dislike Castle if you're a big enough Bones fan to be reading these fics) I am branching out and starting to write Castle fiction as well. You can check my profile if you'd like to see what I've got so far-it's on a different account called bxCaskettxb. It's just one fic right now, but I'll be working on more soon. Don't worry, though, this won't take me away from this story even slightly. I'm much too addicted to it, and Bones fiction, to ever stop.  
**


	13. Precious

**A/N: Here we are again, with another chapter! This one's title is from Precious, a Depeche Mode song. Some of you may remember that it closed the season 1 episode, The Woman at the Airport. **

**I still don't own Bones, but man, I really wish I did. Brennan's personality is grating at my nerves. I dread Thursdays for fear of what insensitive thing she might do next. That aside, I hope you are still enjoying this story :D  
**

_Chapter 12: Precious_

_Angels with silver wings  
Shouldn't know suffering  
I wish I could take the pain for you  
If God has a master plan  
That only He understands  
I hope it's your eyes He's seeing through_

_Things get damaged_  
_Things get broken_  
_I thought we'd manage_  
_But words left unspoken_  
_Left us so brittle_  
_There was so little left to give_

_I pray you learn to trust_  
_Have faith in both of us_  
_And keep room in your hearts for two_

_May 30__th__, 2018_

Booth pulled into his usual space in the Jeffersonian parking garage, and pushed the vehicle into park, staring forward in the stillness and silence that followed the silencing off the engine. The keys dangled in his fingers, and he twisted the keychain around, running his tongue over his lower lip and tasting how dry it was.

His day so far had felt a lot like that. The silence descending in the aftermath of the storm, leaving him staring blankly into the dark hole it had left behind, knowing that he couldn't do anything to either turn back the clock, or change the future that was rushing forward on the gales of the next cloud. He felt drained, and inexplicably cold. It seemed like it should be raining, like he should be soaked through from running through the torrent to his car, just so it would explain the feeling.

His eyes closed, almost involuntarily.

Life changed in an instant. It changed with decisions, with time, with things so far out of his control that they almost hurt to think about. And all of those things, sometimes, managed to team up to work against someone.

And that was what was happening now. What had been happening for years, really. And the effects hadn't gone unnoticed. He had been aware of the feelings, of the crushing weight on his chest, of the icy fears, of everything. But now… now that it was all open and raw and pulsing in the back of his head again; the world from before had collided with the world of now, and he had no clue of how to make sense of what they made together.

He hadn't spoken to Brennan since he had called to tell her about James' release. She had sounded… better, before he had told her his reason for calling. She had been reserved and somewhat stiff, but he could still tell that she was coping decently. Spending time with her son had probably been a large reason for that, and so he was glad that she had that to keep her stable.

It wasn't as if he had been expecting anything from this. He hadn't thought that because of what James had done, she would immediately seek him out for comfort and rediscover their friendship and the closeness that used to come with that. But maybe a part of him had thought that she might seek him out for something. Anything, really, to show that he was still someone for her to turn to, when the world didn't work out the way it was supposed to. What bothered him, though, because he understood why she hadn't come to him, was the fact that she apparently hadn't gone to anyone else either. Ever since he had first started working with her, and began to develop feelings for her, he had been reassured that if anything ever went wrong, either between them or in some other situation in her life… she would go to Angela and then she would still be alright, and she would figure things out from there.

But from what Angela had told him so far, which wasn't much, she hadn't been over to see her. They had spoken, but only at Angela's insistence. He was just… worried. Worried that she was going to try and do this on her own, when anyone in her situation, no matter how strong they might be, should have someone's shoulder to lean on for guidance and comfort.

Brennan was the kind of person that tended to want to shut people out to protect herself. If she did that now… he wasn't sure he'd be in any position to get through to her. To help her.

Thanks to the lack of information he had in his possession, he had no idea what to expect from the lab. She might be here, working away her problems, or she might not. Regardless, though, he needed the team's help to solve this case.

The elevator ride was longer than he remembered it being, and the lab seemed… quieter. Dulled, almost. He barely had to look to know that Brennan wasn't there.

While he'd been expecting that he would first run into Angela or Hodgins, it was actually Cam who came towards him only seconds after he had stepped through the sliding doors. She had a tight smile on, and her hair back in a bun. It looked like she was having a rough morning.

"Seeley," she said, confirming his suspicion. She didn't do that for fun; she only called him by his first name when she was displeased or frustrated. Occasionally when she wanted to tease him... but that wasn't what this was about; not this time.

"What's going on, Cam?" he said, getting straight to the point. He didn't feel at all inclined to carry on with their usual game. No _Camille_ from him today.

"No progress, I can tell you that. And the intern is about to become our new case if he doesn't keep himself busy for more than five minutes at a time."

"Just send him home," Booth suggested, but she was already shaking her head before the words had fully left his mouth.

"Can't. We need every hand on deck as it is, even if there's nothing to do right now. I can't afford to get rid of him."

"Then ship him down to Limbo and forget that you locked the door behind him."

That earned a ruthful smile. "I wish it was that easy. And with Dr. Brennan taking another well-earned week off of work, things are piling up on _my_ desk. So I don't exactly have time to think up tasks for him to do in the meantime."

"She took a full week off?"

Cam opened her mouth and then snapped it shut again, turning to face ahead of them as they walked around the platform. "I thought you knew," she said in a low voice.

"I didn't," Booth answered at once, stating the obvious.

She sighed. "Don't ask me why, because I don't know. Before, she told me she just needed a few days. So, something obviously changed. And if Angela knows what it is, she's not saying. But I'm not asking, either. As far as I'm concerned, she's entitled to as much time off as she needs."

"Thanks," Booth said, barely thinking about what he was saying. He was just grateful that Cam was understanding of this. He hadn't expected anything else, but it was still reassuring.

Cam gave him a look that reminded him he didn't speak for Brennan or her interests anymore. He glanced away.

"Cam!" Hodgins' voice shouted through the mostly silent laboratory. They turned to see the entomologist appear in the doorway of his office, eyes wide and a grin planted on his face. "Booth! Great; both of you. I've got something."

They turned to look at each other for a second, and then both strode forward at once.

"I hope it's something good," Cam intoned as they entered the cluttered space.

"Believe me, it's _very _good. For us, at least," he added smoothly, gesturing for them to hurry after him over to one of his desks. The baseball bat that Booth and Brennan had collected from the crime scene was sitting on a protective plate there, wrapped in plastic next to sheets of testing results and a flashing computer monitor.

"What does this mean?" Booth asked, gesturing to the charts that still didn't make much sense to him, even after all these years. This was why he had squints, after all.

"I was able to collect a sample of the blood. This part here," he pointed to the upper half of the bat, "Is where Maggie was struck. The blood in all these cracks here belongs to her."

"Obviously," Booth pointed out.

"Yes, but that's not the good part. I found this, as well." He reached down to pick up a tiny glass vial that was sitting inconspicuously off to the side. He held it between his forefinger and thumb, up towards them so that they could both peer into it.

"Is that… a hair?" Cam asked, leaning closer. Booth could barely see the thing, but it was definitely a dark strand of hair. Short, too. Not Maggie's.

"I tested, just to be sure, but it's not our victim's. And it's male, which didn't surprise me, given the length. The follicle is almost intact; I ran DNA, but it's not a full profile. If you bring me a sample from a suspect, though, and I can prove that it was them. I just can't search the system with too few markers."

"Could it belong to the door man? He admitted contact with the bat, after all."

"That's the only possibility that I can see which doesn't work out well for us. But either way, I'll need to eliminate him. Get a sample."

"Alright," Booth agreed with a nod. Another trip back to the building wouldn't hurt to begin with; time could always loosen a few tongues. Maybe the other tenants would have more to say this time around, after he finished with Rory. "What's the rest of the team working on? Is there anything else solid that might help us get this guy?"

"Angie's still trying to close down on the identity of our mystery man. The image quality isn't good, but she's trying. I'm sure she'll get something good for you… and it's the same thing with me. You find somebody for us to test, and we can give you results."

Booth glanced at Cam, surprise emanating from him. He couldn't remember the last time the bug guy had referred to her as _Angie_. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time either of them had spoken so openly and warmly about the other. But, judging from Cam's unfazed reaction, this wasn't new. Clearly, Booth had missed some sort of recent development in the lab's social workings.

So he just nodded, pretending he hadn't noticed the difference, and turned to leave.

"Booth?" he turned back to look at the entomologist.

"If you… see Dr. B., just… make sure she knows we're all pulling for her. I'm not sure if Ange is getting through to her right now. She's just… in a bad place."

"Yeah, she is. And… I will. If I see her." Which he probably wouldn't. But he offered a reassuring smile anyways, and nodded a quick farewell before stepping out of the bug man's space.

Part of him wanted to call Brennan, as he rounded the corner and once more stepped through the glass doors that led him towards the elevator. He wanted to hear her voice, and reassure himself that she was okay. He wanted to know what had prompted her to take a full week off, rather than sticking with her original plan. Had she just realized that she needed more time, or had something led her to that conclusion, as he suspected it might have?

And what had happened with James last night? Something was telling him that he had played a large role in her decision. He wanted to know what it had been, and he wanted to do something, anything, to try and make her problems and fears vanish, the way he used to feel like he had the power to do.

His phone made it to his hand by the time he had reached the parking garage, but as he stood beside his SUV door, he stopped and stared at it, finally sighing and just sliding it back into his pocket. If she needed time, then she needed space as well. And she needed those things, without him getting in the way. She had only just found out her husband was cheating on her. Even if he wanted to be there for her, it might not be what was truly _best_ for her at the moment. He had to accept that.

Rory was standing out front at his post when Booth pulled up. He slid into a parallel spot across the street, and hopped out, stepping across at a half-jog.

"Agent Booth," the doorman greeted him with a ruthful smile. "Back again, I see. What can I do for you this time? I'm actually starting to learn the tenants names now, you know."

"Well, this time I'm not here about them. I'm here about you."

The young man's face transformed from surprise, to alarm, to surprise once again. "I... don't understand," he said at last.

"We tested the bat, and we found a sample that might belong to our killer."

Rory's brow furrowed. "So what do you need me for? I told you, I didn't see anything."

"Well, first I need to request a DNA sample from you, to rule you out because you already explained how you came into contact with the weapon."

He blinked slowly, his brow still deeply furrowed, comprehension not dawning. Maybe he was slower than Booth had initially pegged him for.

"Rory, I need you to give me a sample of your hair, and a swab of your mouth," Booth said clearly, pulling out the swab stick container he had brought with him. He raised his eyebrow, waiting for a reaction.

What he got was not entirely unexpected.

His eyes locked on the swab, Rory slowly began to shake his head. He met Booth's eyes, then, his mouth slightly open. "I don't think that's necessary," he said.

Booth closed his eyes. He still honestly didn't think the kid was involved, but he really, _really _wasn't helping his case by refusing to cooperate with the investigation.

"This is where the innocent doorman gives me what I need, and the guilty guy bolts down the street even though he knows I can outrun him," Booth hinted. "So, we can make this really easy, if you like."

"I've got a... constitutional right, don't I?"

"Rory, kid, listen to me, okay? I've got a few other questions for you about that night. If you cooperate and stop making yourself look like you had a hand in this... then we can go our separate ways and I can catch the actual killer, and everyone will be happy. But if you don't stop making yourself look worse and worse with everything you say... I'm going to have to take you down to my very nice office building, and put you in a room with thick walls and a stiff chair to wait a couple hours before I get around to questioning you about just how much more you know that you aren't telling me. Understood?"

The younger man ran a hand through his hair, twitching slightly. Great. Just great.

"Come on, Rory."

"I'd rather not give a sample," Rory repeated resolutely, like he was thinking _well, that's that_.

Booth sighed, and pulled his cuffs from his belt.

"Rory Hart, you're under arrest for involvement in the murder of Margaret Singer. You have the right to remain silent."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The kid was still twitching slightly, when Booth finally stepped into the interrogation room. Thankfully, he hadn't thought to ask for a lawyer yet. Which meant no one was going to be breathing down Booth's neck while he tried to pump for information. He honestly doubted it was going to be very difficult; the guy looked scared to death as it was.

That, and he looked like he was in serious need of something to take the edge off.

"So, what is it, Rory? What am I going to find if I search your home?"

"Nothing," he said instantly, wide-eyed and panicky. He was a terrible liar. Booth could just imagine a group of college buddies playing him for every dime in a poker match.

"Don't play dumb. You're starting to go into withdrawal. You've been feeling the effects for the past hour or so. Do you have any idea how many users we get through here?"

"I'm not a junkie," Rory argued at once, twitching violently.

"Right. Tell you what. You start cooperating, tell me what I want to know, and we'll get you out of here a lot faster. I'm not in narcotics. I'm not looking to bust you. I'm looking to catch a killer. I know you understand that. I've told you it before, several times. And you've been trying to be helpful. But the thing is, you probably know something else. Something else that you don't even know is important."

"You think so?"

Finally, he was getting through to him.

"Yes, I do. Now, does this man look familiar?"

He set down a picture and slid it towards him. It was the shadowy figure that Angela had still been unable to identify. Since his last visit to the lab, though, she had run tests and ruled out James and the other lawyer. A quick thought had told him to ask her to run the business partner as well, but that had just come up negative as well.

Rory picked up the image, tilting it towards himself and squinting. Finally he shook his head, looking actually disappointed. "I don't know. Do you have a better picture?"

Booth shook his head. "How about this one?"

This picture garnered recognition. "Yeah. He owns the building. Um... Joe something?"

"Joel Baleno," Booth corrected for him.

"Yeah, that's it!" The Rory from their first encounter had returned, if he disregarded the twitching and the sniffing, and the overly wide-eyed expression.

"And did he say anything to you, when he went in that night?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I was used to seeing him, though. Standing poker game, I think. Although I'm not supposed to know about it."

Booth nodded, stifling his disappointment. He had been hoping that Rory might disprove Joel's explanation, not validate it.

"Alright," he tapped the first image again. "Can you remember why you weren't at your post when this man entered?"

"I didn't see him, though."

Booth closed his eyes. "The timestamp, Rory. Look at the timestamp. Why did you leave?"

"Oh." He rolled his tongue in his cheek, staring at the image for a long time. "I don't remember," he said at last.

He sounded so guilty that it was almost comical.

"Try again."

"I was smoking in the alley, alright?" he snapped, scraping his hands up and down his face.

Booth didn't ask _what_ he was smoking, he just made a slight sound of acknowledgement from the back of his throat. Progress was good, and he needed to hold up on his end of the bargain, to not bust the kid for it. He honestly didn't care what Rory was into, so long as he stopped interfering with the investigation, and avoiding questions that might crack it wide open. Now, though, he seemed to be opening up. Realizing that he wasn't leaving this room until he spilled.

"Okay. So you were smoking in the alley. How often do you do that?"

"I dunno. Like... two times a shift? It was _late_. Hardly anyone comes in. I just... needed something to keep me going. Y'know?"

"Personally, I like coffee," Booth said with a shake of his head. He stood up and paced to the other side of the room. "When you came back, did you notice anything different? Did you see anyone moving in the lobby, hear a voice?"

"No. I was... I had just gotten _high_ in the alley."

Booth sighed again, running a hand down the beck of his neck, through the bristles of his hair.

"And Margaret Singer. She arrived shortly after that, correct?"

It would make the most sense, that their killer had arrived before their victim. He would have been waiting for her in the elevator, or met her on her floor.

"I don't know. I swear, I just don't know."

Booth headed towards the door.

"Are you going to let me go?" he asked, but Booth just let the door fall shut behind him. He'd be back later, once the lab came through the with DNA results to let him know if that hair matched, or if anything else did, for that matter.

"Do you think he could really be involved?" Sweets asked as he emerged from the observation room and quickened his pace to match the agent's.

"No," Booth said easily, a scoff in his throat.

"Alright, good. Neither do I."

Booth stopped short, turning to look at him. "Sweets, if you've got any _actual_ suspicions, I'd love to hear them. Now, preferably."

"What I'm seeing is a crime that wasn't planned. But yet, it looks like one that was. It's like... two profiles meshed together."

"So... what? You think two people did this?"

"No, actually. I think that someone is trying to cover their tracks by making this look like a crime of passion or opportunity, when it was actually planned ahead of time."

"So someone wanted her dead, and went to the apartment building ahead of her. Waited for Rory to leave his post, snuck in, grabbed the bat, and waited for her in the elevator? With some accelerant and a lighter?"

"I don't claim to know exactly what happened. But I will say that it looks like that might be the case."

"But we haven't found any real motive to kill her," Booth argued. "Everything, _everything_ that we have... hasn't added up. James would have wanted her dead to hide the affair, the partner would have wanted her dead to rescue the reputation of the company..."

"Brennan would have wanted her dead because of the affair."

Booth cast him a scalding look, and he raised his hands in surrender.

"I'm just stating exactly what you would say if it _wasn't _Brennan," he said innocently. "And besides, we both know she didn't actually do it."

"What other motive is there, though? Why would anyone else want to kill her?"

"Maybe you should be looking outside the box," Sweets suggested.

"At _what, _exactly?"

"Well, what if... this wasn't about Maggie at all?"

Booth stiffened. "You mean, what if this was a message?"

"That, or exactly what I first profiled. A crime of opportunity. We work this job long enough, we see things we never imagined. Is it so hard to believe that someone might have seen Rory leave his post, and decided to take the chance? We live among some of the most dangerous people, and we don't even realize it, most of the time."

"What are the odds of that, though? I mean... that they would just happen to kill the woman who was having an affair with Brennan's husband?"

"What are the odds of it happening to anyone? It's just a thought," Sweets said with a shrug. "We should be looking at every possible angle."

Booth nodded slowly. Even if he didn't like it, the shrink did have a point.

"Thanks," he said, and turned again for the elevator.

"Where are you going?" Sweets queried.

"The lab. I'm hoping they'll have some results for me."

Sweets looked like he wanted to ask if he could tag along, but Booth hit the button to close the elevator doors, and the shrink vanished from sight. Booth sighed, and leaned against the back wall, letting the cool of the metal sink into his skin.

It was already a long day, and he felt like it was only going to get longer.

Sweets had added yet more worries for him to carry on his shoulders.

The whole trip over to the Jeffersonian, his words chased each other around inside Booth's head. By the time he arrived, he was starting to think he had something that he really didn't like building up into a picture that he liked even less.

It was Hodgins who he ran into first, this time around.

"Anything new?" he asked abruptly, before the entomologist could speak.

Hodgins shut his mouth, and then opened it again to answer with just a quick, and somewhat confused, "No?"

"Alright. Where's Angela?"

"Listen, Booth," Hodgins started, spinning on his heel to try and keep up with the agent as he strode towards the artist's office. "She doesn't have anything yet. And she's not going to get anything any quicker with you breathing down her neck."

"Not what I'm here for," Booth said stiffly, waving him off and knocking briskly on the office door.

Inside, Angela glanced up from where she was seated with her tablet, the Angelator in front of her overloaded with images and charts that all looked very confusing and unorganized.

She motioned for him to come in, and Hodgins drifted off reluctantly, giving him a warning look. It was strangely refreshing, seeing him back to his usual protective self. He resisted the urge to ask what had changed to fix their problems up so neatly and so quickly.

"Booth, do you have something for me to run through my recognition software?"

"Unfortunately, no. I want to talk about something, though."

She frowned in confusion, but gave an agreeable nod. "Alright. What's on your mind?"

He dropped into an open spot on one of her couches.

"I need to know if anything has changed in Brennan's life recently. If anyone new has been hanging around, if she's gotten any strange mail, if anyone's been bothering her. If she's got any new fans. And I need you to do some digging on James and find out the same thing."

"Before I even _start_ to answer that, I need to know why."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm starting to think that this had nothing to do with Maggie. Something that Sweets said," he added, when she looked more confused than before. She nodded slowly, still not fully comprehending, but he pushed on, "And if this had nothing to do with her, than clearly it had everything to do with someone else around her. That means James, or, because of James, Brennan."

"Well, I can tell you right off that Brennan hasn't said anything to me about anything weird like that. And she would have, believe me. But if you're really worried, I can run some more tests on James and look specifically for things that might indicate your theory has some validity to it. Just... don't expect much, okay?"

"I won't," he promised distractedly. "But Ange, if someone was really out to hurt James, Brennan would be next on their list."

At that, he got a bitter laugh from Angela, which completely threw him off.

"They'd have to _really_ not know James very well for that to make sense, Booth. I don't think you have to worry about Bren."

"Why?" he asked instantly, alarm shooting through him. Something about the icy way she'd said it, and the clear venom on her tongue, told him that there was something else he wasn't aware of that was going on.

"Because James is an asshole," Angela muttered.

"I already knew that," he said dismissively. "What did you mean, though?"

"Nothing," she said, waving him off and turning her eyes back to the screen. He could see that she wasn't really reading anything there, though. She was just seeking a distraction from him.

"Fine. But that doesn't mean she's safe. I think I should get a detail on her place, to be sure that no one tries anything."

It was Angela's turn to close her eyes. She breathed out a patient sigh, and then met his eyes as calmly as she could manage to.

"Booth. She will kill you if you so much as _suggest_ that."

"But she might be in—"

"What? Grave danger? We both know she can look out for herself, Booth. And God, you know that I'm the first one to panic if anything goes wrong with her. So believe me when I tell you that having agents follow her around right now... is not a good idea. That, and I think you're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" he sputtered.

"Yes," she answered, her tone clipped. "I get it, really. You're feeling guilty because you feel like you failed Brennan all that time ago, and that this is all your fault now. And you really want to make sure she's okay. As sweet and endearing as that is—and completely hot, too—it's just _not_ logical. And like I said. If someone wanted to hurt James, they'd go straight for the source. He's a self-centered asshole. They can kill him if they want to hurt him so badly. You won't see me stepping in the way," she added in a mutter, stabbing a key on her tablet with particular ferocity.

"You really think this doesn't have anything to do with her?"

"I really do, Booth. But... it's nice to know that you still care so much that you don't even realize you're doing it. She'll need that, once everything is over. And don't forget what I said before. You have every right to do what you want with your life. But seeing as you look pretty content to stick around for her... you should know that with time, she'll come around. It might take a while, though. She doesn't cope well with a broken heart. She never has... and I don't blame her one bit for it."

"Neither do I," he replied softly.

"I'll still be here if you need anything else," she added as he turned towards the door. "And you'll be the first to know, when I come up with something for this case. We're going to get this guy."

The door shut without a reply.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Angela listened to his fading footsteps after the door closed, not turning to watch his retreating form. She leaned back into the couch, blowing out a long breath through her nose.

She should be calm and relaxed. She should be enjoying the fact that she and Jack had talked for the first time in what felt like years, and had resolved some of their issues and discovered common ground once more. She should be reveling in the fact that they were talking, that they had just spent their lunch break rediscovering the Egyptian exhibit.

Instead, though, she just felt remarkably guilty.

Sure, it was great that her marriage was back on track. But everything with Brennan was weighing heavily on her heart, and it didn't help that it was _that_ which had prompted Hodgins to start the discussion about their relationship and what he wanted for them.

Ultimately, the revelation about Bren's marriage had been something to make the both of them look at their own marriage in a new light. She had never doubted Hodgins, and he had never doubted her. And they had expressed that, and laughed for the first time over how ridiculous it was that they had even started refusing to talk to each other or look at each other when they happened to be in the same room.

They didn't want to end up like Brennan.

Neither of them said it. Neither of them had to, though. It was hanging in the air between them, the knowledge that they would still do anything for each other, that they still loved each other and always would. That _everything_ about their relationship was not like Brennan's.

Brennan would never know that she had been the cause of their rescue from themselves. Angela would make sure of that. That didn't mean Angela wouldn't always be aware of it, though.

So no, she couldn't let herself be happy with the situation. Because was it really happiness, if it was happiness created at the expense of Brennan's complete and utter misery? All the heartbreak Brennan had been exposed to in her life... this was one thing that should never have happened.

What hurt most, though, was that Brennan wouldn't ask for the help that she so clearly needed. Angela offered over and over again to come over and help her with anything from cleaning to watching Nick. And every time, Brennan vehemently refused. Ange had even driven over the night before, only to get no response at the door.

From their limited phone conversations so far today, she had learned a few things, and only in sparse details. James was planning to file for divorce, and custody. He had come over yesterday, and told her so as he packed.

After getting that out of her, though, Brennan had abruptly ended the conversation. Angela knew her well enough to know that her friend was about to break down, and hadn't wanted to be on the phone when it happened. That alone had nearly prompted her to leave work and go straight to her friend's side.

But the results had come back on the first tests she'd run, comparing James and Kevin to the profile of the mystery man, and then Booth had asked her to run another one, and she had been overrun by the rest of the details from the case that she was still trying to put together.

And as the guilt continued to build up, she'd heard Brennan's familiar voice telling her that the case was far more important than anything else, and she had laughed to herself, through a few tears, and thought that it was exactly what her friend would say.

Tonight, she would drive back over there again, though, and she wouldn't take no for an answer. She needed to talk to her best friend. She needed to make everything okay.

**Feedback. Feedback. Feedback.**

***cough* I'm not shamelessly begging. Really. But seriously, the feedback on this story has already been more than I could ever hope for, and I love all of you for it. So, as long as you are enjoying the story, keep telling me. And if you aren't enjoying it, then for goodness sake TELL ME. If you can't tell, the show is bugging me to no end because they won't listen to thier viewers. I try to listen to all of you, even if you can't see it, and even if I don't respond. Sometimes I get little comments that wake me up to things I never thought of, and change the whole course of where I'm going. And I appreciate it so much.  
**


	14. Stop and Stare

**A/N: This chapter should make you all very happy. It made _me_ happy, writing it. So I hope you will agree. Title song is Stop and Stare by OneRepublic.**

_Chapter 13: Stop and Stare_

_Stop and stare  
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere  
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared  
But I've become what I can't be, oh  
Stop and stare_

_You start to wonder why you're here not there  
And you'd give anything to get what's fair  
But fair ain't what you really need  
Oh, can you see what I see_

_They're trying to come back, all my senses push_  
_Untie the weight bags, I never thought I could..._  
_Steady feet, don't fail me now_  
_Imma run till you can't walk_  
_Something pulls my focus out_  
_And I'm standing down..._

_May 31__st__, 2018_

Thankfully, Nick hadn't asked too many questions, the night that James had come by. He had been happy to sit with a bowl of ice cream in front of the television set, watching movie after movie while she smiled and nodded whenever he pointed something out to her on the screen. He was lost in an easier world, where everyone looked out for him, and his mother was cool enough that she let him put sprinkles and a cherry on top of his sundae.

He had been in bed when Angela had dropped by, and thankfully the day had tired him out enough that he did not to hear her knocks and desperate pleas to be let in from the doorstep.

Brennan had sat hunched on the couch with a glass of red wine cradled in her hand, staring blankly at the empty television screen. She had wanted to let her friend in. The night prior had been nice; having Angela there to lean on, to talk to, to get some sympathy from. In the light of the new day, though, she had realized that she could not make it a habit. Angela seemed to want to do just that, however, and it had taken a great deal of strength to keep herself from going straight to the door and letting her friend envelop her in a much needed hug.

After what James had said earlier, she still needed to process. She didn't know how much she wanted people to know about this. It might all turn out fine, after all. There was little chance that James would be given custody; statistics were on her side, and his infidelity wouldn't help him even slightly.

At the same time, she was terrified. So much so that she had almost been unable to return to the living room after she had heard the door shut behind him. For a long few minutes, she had just sat there, muffling the sobs and desperately trying to convince herself that it was all going to be alright. Logic couldn't soothe her worries; logic was telling her that there was every chance she might lose her son to the man that she now hated, and yet still loved at the same time.

It was unfair. Unbelievably, irrevocably _unfair_. All this time, and he had let himself fall out of love with her. He had found ways to keep himself busy and happy and satiated. He had been aware of everything and had arrogantly gone about his business. And she... all she had seen was that she couldn't keep their marriage on track, and that she was miserable and wanted to fix it. She had still loved him. Still cared for him. She hadn't wanted to end things. He had done that for them, though. He had destroyed what they had possessed, all for his own selfish means.

He didn't even have to live with a broken heart because it was over. He got to have his relief and his freedom. It was her that got the broken heart and the devastation and the abandonment that she had always been terrified of.

And she hated it.

Two days later, and she still couldn't face her friend. Because if she did, then she would have to tell her everything. She had picked up the phone, and filled her in on what was happening, but she hadn't wanted to talk about it in full. Angela didn't deserve to bear that burden, and she didn't need to hear about the pain that Brennan was going through. This was for her, and her only. No one else needed to be involved. And she would win the divorce, and custody, and everything would be okay.

It had to be.

Taking the entire week off from work had been a decision that she stood by, and not just because she still didn't want to face her coworkers. She needed to be with her son. After what happened, she couldn't possibly imagine being away from his side for any amount of time. Especially with James threatening to take him away from her.

And this week away from the lab was a precursor to a decision that she had been struggling with ever since discovering James' infidelity. He had always pressured her to leave her job, to spend more time with their family. And she had always refused, citing the importance of her work and the necessity of her time spent at it. Now, she saw that there were more important things. Things that revolved around her, for once. Her son needed her, more than anything else. And there were other people who could solve murders and earn justice for the victims that came across the lab tables. Her team would work well, with or without her presence. She had trained interns; they could take over her position if Cam could find no one else.

Everything would be fine, and she could live her life the way she wanted to. It might not be without the interest of the cases or the excitement of the chase, but it would be with the warmth and happiness of knowing she had a family. Her writing career could only improve with the added free time, and maybe after Nick started going to school, she could get a teaching position during his school hours and run a few lectures at local colleges. It would be nice to keep at least some footing in the anthropology world, even if she stopped working in it full-time.

Right now, her resignation letter was sitting on her desk beside her laptop, folded neatly. But there was still a debate raging in her head, over whether or not to go through with it. The past twenty years of her life had been dedicated to the lab, after all. She could still remember her first day stepping through the doors in 1998, looking around with amazement at the high ceilings and the bright lights. It was a workplace she could have only dreamed about.

_"This will be your office, Dr. Brennan," Goodman told her warmly, his accent surprisingly soothing and warm. He smiled kindly at her, motioning to the glass-walled room on the corner. _

It would be strange, leaving that behind. She had been the first of the team to work there, after all. Hodgins had arrived two years later, an unpleasant and angry person with a close attachment to his bugs and a frustration with just about everyone he spoke with. He snapped rubber bands around his wrists to display his irritation whenever she gave him a task to do, and frequently was insubordinate when it was Goodman giving the commands.

Zach had come next, in 2004: her first intern. It had been Goodman's idea, and for the first time she and Hodgins had agreed on something. Both of them had hated the idea, and fought him on it. In the end, though, she had been dumped with a large pile of applications, and had been forced to dig through them by hand until she finally decided on a young candidate from Michigan that reminded her somewhat of her herself.

She never would have imagined just how much that decision would change, and eventually break, her heart. Because Zach had been like the little brother she'd never had, who would do anything to make her happy, and possessed a fervor for learning that was irreplaceable.

She would not regret being able to leave behind the memories of that betrayal. The lab still held some of them. There were still days, all this time later, when she would lose herself in the job and glance up just once, having heard what felt like familiar footsteps, and half-expected to find her younger counterpart standing there with a tray and an eager expression, ready to tell her that he had completed a reconstruction.

The blow was still just as crushing.

She tried not to think about it, and his release from the 'loony bin' had helped with that somewhat. She wasn't sure, really, if it made the whole thing worse – the fact that he hadn't actually done it.

It was one thing for logic – the logic she had taught him – to fail and lead him astray... it was another for him to feel that he couldn't tell her, or any of the others, the whole truth. He could have been free, all those years. She could have found a way to get him his job back, no matter what it took to make it happen.

Even after his release, though, he hadn't come back to them. A bit of consulting at Hodgins' request, but he had found work elsewhere, and spent most of his time back in Michigan. She hadn't seen him much in the past few years, and that almost made the pain worse.

Every case that crossed her table, those twenty years, had left a mark as well. The ones she had solved, and the ones she had not. They were still a burden to bear, and knowing that every day she continued to spend there was another day she would see death and pain... it didn't help matters.

She sometimes wondered what it would be like, to be a regular person, who worked a normal job and had a normal family, who only saw murders on their television screens. They could just shake their head at the screen, comment to their spouse about the sadness in the world, and flip the station. They could forget in five minutes what they had seen, while she had to lie awake at night and picture the faces that Angela drew smiling in her sketchpad, wondering what their life would have been like if they had never been forced to take the road that led them to the Jeffersonian.

Maybe getting away from the dead would do her some good. Hadn't she felt like that before, years back, when she had told Booth that she was tired of the dead? She should have known that the feeling would eventually return. It had been creeping up on her for years, if she was honest. And it had always been lingering, even when it wasn't prominent among her thoughts.

For now, though, the letter would remain on her desk. She still had a couple of days left to make up her mind, and then she would drive to the lab and tell Cam what she had decided. If it came to it, she would place the letter on her desk and gather her belongings. Hopefully in the early morning hours or late at night, so she wouldn't have to face Angela and the others, and tell them herself that she was quitting. She didn't want to think what they would say, because she knew that they would try to talk her out of it.

"Mom!" Nick's voice reached her from around the corner, and she glanced up, coming back to reality. The kitchen was bright; noon had arrived without her noticing. She set down the dish she had been washing, and ran her hands through the towel as she moved to stand in the doorway of the living room. Nick was sitting on his knees, backwards on the couch cushion, tiny hands propped on the windowsill. His head turned towards her, and he pointed outside. "Someone's here!"

At once, she felt a cold wash of fear go through her. Someone being at her house was just not a good sign. It never was. And if it was Angela again, she didn't know how she was going to handle it. She couldn't keep turning her friend away from her door, and she could hardly explain it to Nick if she did it right in front of him.

She stepped swiftly up to the side of the couch, and Nick's head bobbed back around to face outside. She pushed aside the curtain so she could see better, and found a red pickup truck parked in the driveway. It looked familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd seen it. The doorbell rang, and she let the curtain fall back into place. She couldn't see the front stairs from this angle anyways.

"Stay here," she told her son firmly, and rounded the corner out to the front hallway, moving to peer through the peephole.

At once, she relaxed, the adrenaline washing away and an easy smile twisting up the corner of her lips as she reached to undo the locks and pull the door open.

"Parker," she greeted him. "This is... a surprise."

"Hi," he said, somewhat awkwardly. He had a lopsided grin that reminded her so much of his father's, and an easy calmness exuded from him. She hadn't seen him in a while, and he was taller than she remembered. He was probably even with Booth, now, in fact, if not a little taller.

"Come in," she said, stepping out of the way and nearly bumping into Nick, who was standing just inside the opening to the living room, peering around with wide-eyed curiosity. He had met Parker only once or twice, and he was too young to have developed much skill with remembering faces. She wasn't at all surprised to find that he didn't recall who Parker was. Especially with the older boy growing so quickly. At his age, though, he was probably at the end of his spurt.

"Thanks, uh... Brennan."

She laughed. The name sounded strange from him, even if he was old enough for it to be normal. "You don't have to call me that," she assured him. "Temperance works, if you prefer."

He followed her to the living room, Nick scooting back around the corner ahead of them and sitting himself with a bounce onto his favorite spot on the couch. Parker sat at the opposite end, after she had dropped into the chair. Jasper glanced up from his bed in the corner, and then dropped his head again, watching them with wide brown eyes but not bothering to get up. He had a better memory than Nick; he remembered Parker.

"So, what brings you here?" she asked, although she already had a fairly good idea.

He glanced quickly at Nick, and then said, "I just thought maybe you'd like some company."

She nodded slowly. "Nicky, why don't you go play your video games upstairs?"

"I can use your TV?"

"Yes, just be careful."

"Cool!" he pushed himself off the edge of the couch, and skidded around the corner, his socks sliding on the hardwood. They both listened to the pounding as he ran up the stairs.

"He's a good kid," Parker commented in the following silence.

"Yeah, he is," she murmured softly.

"Dad told me about what happened," Parker admitted after an extended pause. She'd already figured that out, but she was glad that he said it.

"I figured he would have," she said with a nod and a sad smile.

"I'm sorry," he replied, honesty reverberating in his tone.

"Me too," she murmured, clasping her hands in her lap and staring over his head at a painting of the Eiffel Tower that Angela had made for her the year after her return from Paris.

"Can I... I mean, Dad acts almost like it's taboo nowadays, and I'm just wondering if it's because of him, or if..."

"You can call me Bones," she said, cutting him off and offering a reassuring smile. To be honest, she'd been half-hoping he would do so on his own. It would be one thing that hadn't changed.

He smiled back in warm relief.

"Thanks. I just... I grew up pretty much thinking that was your name, y'know?"

"Yeah," she answered, smiling to fight back against the unbidden prickling in the corners of her eyes. "I understand."

"Listen," he started again, leaning forward, "If you need... any help, with Nick, I'd be glad to babysit or something. I used to look after the neighbor's kids for them sometimes, and I know I haven't been around Nick very much, but I'm sure he'd love to toss around a football or something, if you just need a break..."

"Thank you," she managed to force out through her constricting throat. Her mind was playing a continuous loop of memories, and she could barely see straight. Parker had been four years old when she first met him. Curly hair bouncing in his face, shrill voice recounting something exciting to his father, tiny hand waving over the shoulder as he called out 'Merry Christmas, Bones!'

She would have done anything for him. And, had things worked out with Booth, she would have been his stepmother. She remembered the days in the park and the warm summer days doing cannonballs into her pool with him and his father. She remembered his visits to the lab, and his enthusiasm for learning. In some ways, he had reminded her of Zach, and the feeling she used to get when she taught him something new and watching him grasp the concept with unexpected ease.

It was a feeling that was hard to forget.

She remembered Cam's adopted daughter, Michelle, and thought of how Cam had always spoken of not wanting children because she had left her behind. She remembered Parker's inquisitive questions, asking her one day – when Booth had stepped away from their table in the diner to clean ketchup off his shirt – if she was dating his father.

She remembered the pain that had come with forcing a smile and shaking her head.

She remembered wondering, years later, if he had forgotten about her. If perhaps he hated her for disappearing from his and his father's lives and starting a new one all her own. For the first time, she had understood part of what Cam had meant.

It seemed, though, that it was not the case at all. He hadn't forgotten.

"Dad says he hasn't talked to you in a couple of days," Parker was saying. "He didn't admit it, but he's really worried about you."

Of course Booth would be. She bowed her head, fighting back the now-familiar guilt. Why did he have to care? Why did he have to stick around and be the very person that she had always known he was? Why couldn't he have gone away so she wouldn't have to feel like a horrible person whenever she saw the familiar pain in his eyes?

And now she was going to hear it directly from his son, who apparently didn't blame her.

It was almost too much.

"I'm fine," she said, but the words sounded wrong the moment they were loose, and she knew that Parker heard it, because he just gave a jerk of his head. She could almost see him affirming his opinion of her, and she winced.

"Alright then, I guess I'll be going."

She bit her lip as he stood up and moved towards the door.

"Wait," she said finally, just as he was stepping across the threshold to the hallway. He paused and looked back, and she closed her eyes tightly before she spoke again. "I'm sorry. I'm... not fine. At all."

She listened, more than watched, as he came back across the room and sat himself back down across from her.

"You should talk to him," Parker said softly.

"I can't," she said, her voice an octave too high. She bit back a few more tears.

_"Why?"_ he argued, his confusion defeating any sort of anger he might have held for her. "Why can't you talk to him about it? I mean... he's done just about everything he can to make you see him. And I know for a fact that he's never let you down when you needed him."

She laughed bitterly, images flashing across the insides of her eyelids. _A funeral, Caroline speaking emphatically while Brennan tried to fight down the urge to vomit, bouncing on the balls of her feet with arms clasped securely around herself. A starry night outside the Hoover building, words reverberating across to her, warm lips on top of hers, and a voice saying that she couldn't love him and he was going to give up on her. A cold night with rain pouring down, bearing her heart for the first time in her life and hearing him say that it didn't matter. _

Some of them, she had brought upon herself. Some she had no control over. Some she could even understand, from his point of view. But all of them... all of them had hurt. That was the one thing she couldn't deny. Just how much they had _hurt_.

"Alright, so maybe I don't know all of it," Parker amended, picking up on her reaction to his statement. "But that doesn't mean my dad doesn't still love you."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes darting up to meet his with wide-eyed shock. Angela told her similar things all the time. It was different, though, hearing it so abruptly and boldly from his own son.

"He shouldn't," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not... he just shouldn't."

He sighed, chewing on his lip and considering his next words. "For a long time, I thought I hated you," he said softly, at last. His honesty washed over her with the power of a tidal wave. She blinked a couple of times, forcing herself to hear him through the pounding roar of blood in her ears. "Dad was miserable, for years after you got married. He talked about you a lot, for a while. And then he stopped talking about you at all, and I stopped asking. I didn't really know what had happened, and he wasn't going to tell me, so for a really long time, I thought it was all your fault. And to be honest, I still don't know exactly what happened. But I know that he asked you to start something with him, you turned him down, and he has never stopped hating himself for letting you get away because of that."

She had stopped breathing somewhere in the middle, and now only managed a soft intake of breath, her head shaking back and forth on its own.

"I only have his side, so I get that you might see it differently. But... what I'm saying is that he still loves you, and if you still have any sort of feelings for him, then you'll realize that you can't keep pushing him away. Eventually, he'll hate you for it."

"I know he will," she whispered.

"And what, you want that?" Parker said, for the first time his tone bringing in the faintest traces of anger.

"I don't know exactly how much Booth has told you," she said quietly. "But... I'm not the kind of person he should be with. Not after how much I've already hurt him. You said that yourself."

"Just because you hurt him doesn't mean you can't fix it," Parker argued. "I mean... I'm not telling you to go marry him. I'm just telling you that you should let him help you."

"It's... very complicated."

"I know," Parker said, "I get that. Just... think about it, okay? I mean, I know that I don't get all of it. I know there's a lot that I've got no clue about. So I'm just telling you what I see. Because I think you should know."

"I... appreciate that. A lot," she said, and he nodded, understanding that she meant it.

They sat in silence for a moment, and she searched for a decent way to change the subject without it being too abrupt. Because it was clear that he was finished trying to convince her. And he had certainly given her plenty to think about.

"How's school?" she tried at last, and he seemed relieved at the question.

"Really good, actually. I don't know if dad told you, but I'm going into criminal profiling. I'm hoping to get a job either at Quantico or at the Hoover, once I graduate."

"He told me," Brennan assured with a smile.

Parker nodded. "And... I've been wanting to say thanks. Which probably sounds kind of bad after I just sort of went off on you about something I actually have no business in," he added with a rueful shake of his head.

"No, it's fine," she assured. "I... sometimes I need people to point things out to me. I have a hard time seeing them myself. But... I'm just not entirely sure what you're thanking me for."

He gave her an incredulous look.

"The trust fund?" he tried with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh," she said, waving it off. "You were a very bright child. It was logical to expect that you might need financial aid to pay for school; I had anticipated that you would be accepted to a high-ranking school."

He gave her an open-mouthed look, and then snapped his jaw shut as if he realized he was being rude. "But _still," _he insisted,"I mean... that was huge. And you didn't... you didn't have to do that."

She shrugged, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the praise. She had only done what she had thought was best at the time. It had made complete sense that Parker should have a trust fund. She had money, so she had set one up.

She vaguely remembered James being frustrated when he found out about it, and she allowed herself a small ounce of satisfaction, to know that they were finished. It was one of the other things, among many, that had struck her the wrong way. In many ways, James had made her understand why Booth didn't like powerful, rich people. A good portion of them didn't understand when other people struggled to reach the same heights.

James had thought it ridiculous that she had put her money towards helping Parker's future. The arrogance suddenly struck her, in a way she hadn't noticed before, and she wondered if he had always been like that, and she just hadn't noticed when they had first gotten together. She had thought his brash honesty about things had been a trait she could relate to. Now she wondered how she had ever understood it.

"I'm just glad that you're putting your education to good use. You're going to be a marvelous profiler someday."

"I hope so," he agreed. "There's... an awful lot to learn, though. Sometimes it's hard to keep up."

"I had a lot to learn as well," she agreed. "Anthropology is a complicated field. While I don't agree with most of the psychology field, I do realize that there is a lot required to become equipped in using it. Even if most of it is guesswork."

"Good guesswork, though," Parker added with a grin. "It certainly puts a lot of people behind bars."

She couldn't find a suitable argument for that.

"Yes, it does. And Dr. Sweets has helped us on a number of occasions. He... seems very adept at it. I'm sure you will be as well."

Parker laughed. "Thank you."

"I heard Booth mention that you had a girlfriend," she added, a question hanging.

"Her name's Clara," Parker said with a nod. "She's going into biomedical engineering; we have a couple classes together. I had to take chemistry, for basic forensic knowledge, and so we met there. This last semester we had an overlapping Calculus class as well."

"Well that's good. I found college relationships to be much more satisfying than high school," she tossed in. "I would suggest avoiding relationship with your professors, however."

He gave a slight laugh of disbelief. "You dated your professor?"

"He turned out to be an ass," she assured him, and he laughed again, shaking his head.

"Wow."

"It didn't help that I resumed my relationship with him later on, after I was already working with your father."

"I bet Dad hated him."

"Yes, he did, actually. And I did as well, in the end. He sabotaged me on the case we were working."

"Seriously?"

She nodded, scowling at the memory. "He thought it would be nice to announce my insecurities in open court to help get the guilty party released. Despite the overwhelming evidence that they had committed the murder."

"And did Dad punch him?"

"No, but I nearly did."

Parker grinned. "Dad told me he couldn't let you go out with a gun, because you'd manage to shoot someone or something every time."

"Now that's not entirely true..."

"You mean when he came home limping after Halloween that year, that wasn't you?"

She opened her mouth, and then shut it. "Okay, that was me," she admitted, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

"And I heard something about rats, too."

"They were eating the evidence," she filled in.

"Of course they were," Parker chuckled.

It was strange, recounting cases with Booth's son. Strange, but at the same time... nice. It was like reliving the easier days. She wondered if she might eventually get to do this with her own son. If she would be okay with telling him things about her past, and the adventures she had gone on.

"Can I ask you something?" he said suddenly.

"...Of course," she agreed, but she felt concern creep over her. She didn't know what this was he was going to ask her. She had no clue if she could actually answer his question.

"I can't really talk to my dad about... my relationship. But I thought maybe you might be able to give me some... advice."

"Oh. Parker, I'm not... I'm not very good with this sort of thing. I mean... you should already know that. And if your father's told you anything about my past relationships..."

"He hasn't," Parker told her with a shake of his head. "But you're a woman. And I need to know what Clara is thinking. Plus, she's actually a bit like you," he said with a fresh lopsided grin.

"Alright..." she said slowly. "What did you want to ask?"

"There's a study abroad program, for the summer semester. I was planning to spend it working and relaxing with her, but she's planning to take off to England."

"She really wants to go?" Brennan questioned.

"Yeah. And she knew I wasn't going to like it, because she didn't want to tell me, but then she gets irritated when I try to talk her out of it. And then she acts like I still have a say."

"She cares about you," Brennan said, barely knowing where the words were coming from. Angela was the one that knew about relationships. The one that gave Brennan advice. This was hardly her field of expertise, and yet she felt absolutely confident in saying that to Parker.

Maybe it was because she was so reminded of a trip to Maluku, and the emotions that had been going through her at the time.

"I care about her, too. But I don't want to make her think I don't by trying to keep her from doing something she loves. And at the same time, I don't want her to go."

This wasn't the same situation that Brennan had faced. Clara wasn't going to come back with some new blonde guy on her arm. Because she wasn't looking to move on. She was looking to keep everything in tact. This wasn't her escape.

"If you want to keep her, then you need to let her go," Brennan said. She remembered Angela giving her similar advice once, a long time ago, and so she felt more confident in her words.

"So I should tell her to leave?"

"Tell her that if it's what she really wants, then it's what you want for her. She'll appreciate it. And... being away from the person you love can give you a whole new perspective. It can make you realize that you don't... you don't want to be away from them ever again."

Parker was looking at her his head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed. He nodded slowly, but she could see he was thinking. He was seeing that she was talking from experience. But he didn't inquire further. He just thanked her for the advice.

Pounding overhead announced the impending return of Nick, and sure enough, only moments later the small bundle of energy burst into the room, clutching a soccer ball.

He pulled up short, glancing between the two of them, and Brennan smiled suddenly.

"Parker, I think Nick wants to challenge you to a game," she said. She should have been expecting it, to be honest. In fact, she should have been surprised he hadn't come down sooner. Maybe Nick hadn't forgotten as much about Parker as she had first suspected.

The older boy grinned. "Really, now? Well, Nick, get ready to lose, buddy."

He pushed himself to his feet, and Nick cheered, punching the air with his fist.

"You coming, Mom?" he asked, stopping in the doorway.

"I'll watch," she said agreeably. He pouted, and she rolled her eyes. "Alright, I'll play goal," she offered.

"Yesss!" her son hissed, charging ahead to beat Parker out the back door.

For a moment, she stopped in the doorway, at the top of the back stairs, and watched as Nick charged across the green grass ahead of Parker, kicking the soccer ball. She could see that Parker was slowing down to give the younger boy a chance, and she smiled softly to herself.

An image painted itself for her, of long summer days spent exactly like this. Of a family made of all of them together. It was the world that she had given up, when she had said yes to James. It was the world she had managed to say goodbye to, when she had let go of Booth's hand in that airport and turned away.

She had cried on the plane. It was something she had never told anyone, not even Angela. She had sat by the window, and watched DC disappear below her, and she had felt the hot warm tears fall down her cheeks. By leaving, she was trying to find something to safe herself. And yet, it was as if a part of her had known what she had done. Like a part of her had known that she had ended every opportunity by letting this happen.

Maybe that was why she hadn't been incredibly shocked when Booth handed her the picture of Hannah and told her about his new relationship.

Not shocked, no. Broken, though... yes.

But she had done the breaking all on her own.

Watching Parker, she thought about what he had said. About Booth doing everything he could for her. About the regrets that he had. They sounded a lot like the regrets that she had. It sounded like he would chance the same things that she would.

It sounded... like they both wanted the same future.

But how could she possibly try for that, when she had already ruined their lives multiple times? No, she couldn't blame Booth anymore for what he had done in the past. She'd been holding on to that for too long, trying to convince herself that because he gave up so easily, it had caused everything that followed.

When in all honesty, if she had just said yes... she could have prevented it all to begin with.

And then this picture before her, this happiness lingering on the edges of the sun overhead, wouldn't be just an image, just a part of a dream. It would be reality.

"Bones!" Parker called, drawing her back to herself, and she smiled and jogged across the warm clean lawn to join them, trying to forget all else.

**Nothing quite like Parker and Brennan interaction, right? I know, you're all still thinking 'for goodness sake, when are we going to see BxB?' I promise, we'll get there. Eventually. **

**Feedback? Want to complain about the angst and the lack of BxB? Drop me a line ;D (seriously, though, I promise that it will all work out in the end, and you'll be happy with me)  
**


	15. Look After You

**A/N: Welcome back to yet another update Tuesday :D For those of you who haven't heard, Bones will be returning for a seventh season, which means I won't have to face the painful world of life without it. Although right now, I'm glad to say that I am handling it pretty well - I haven't seen either of the two most recent episodes; I have decided to wait until the day of the finale, and I will watch all of them at once. **

**So, no spoilers from all of you, please. Because spoilers would make me very disappointed, and probably pretty sad too. **

**Anyways, enjoy the chapter! Song is Look After You by The Fray, and I strongly encourage listening to it while reading, especially in the latter part of the chapter.  
**

_Chapter 14: Look After You_

_If I don't say this now I will surely break  
As I'm leaving the one I want to take  
Forgive the urgency but hurry up and wait  
My heart has started to separate_

_Oh, oh, oh_  
_Oh, oh, oh_  
_Be my baby_  
_Oh, oh, oh_  
_Oh, oh, oh_  
_Be my baby_  
_I'll look after you_

_There now, steady love, so few come and don't go_  
_Will you won't you, be the one I always know_  
_When I'm losing my control, the city spins around_  
_You're the only one who knows, you slow it down_

_May 31__st__, 2018_

Booth opened the refrigerator, shuffling through the take-out containers. He wasn't in the mood for nearly-bad Chinese food this time around, but there didn't seem to be much else. Sighing, he settled for tossing a piece of bread in the toaster and digging out the butter and jam. Hardly lunch material, but he certainly didn't feel like shopping, and he didn't have the funds at the moment to blow on yet another meal at the Founding Fathers.

This was the best he was going to do, and besides, he needed to get back to the lab pretty quickly. The team was running in circles, completely out of tests to run, and they were at a phase where they were hunting for something, anything, that looked remotely _new_ and might yield fresh evidence. The only test still going was the comparison of Rory Hart's DNA.

Booth had sent out a warrant the night before, requesting access to the database for Turner Enterprises, and it had gone through a short while ago. With any luck, Angela would be in the middle of comparing everyone.

So maybe, with any sort of luck, there might be something waiting for him by the time he returned.

Something that would be good enough to get him an arrest.

Parker was missing, and he hadn't left a note, which was odd. He didn't have class at this time, and Booth couldn't image where he'd have taken off to, but it was likely that his friends had probably asked him to meet up with them.

Still, he checked his phone again as he sat down with the toast on a flimsy paper plate, drinking orange juice straight out of the carton. No new messages, and he snapped it shut again. So there was nothing yet from the lab, and nothing to tell him if Parker planned to be home for supper.

The toast vanished fairly quickly, and Booth brushed the crumbs off of his sleeves, tossing the plate in the trash. There wasn't really much to keep him away from the lab now, and yet he found himself hesitating at his door.

He wanted to drop by Brennan's on the way. Just to... check on her. Make sure she was doing okay; see if she needed anything. Maybe he could offer to bring her Thai food that night. Forget about his wallet, he'd buy whatever she needed.

Angela's words from the day before still rang through his head, though. He knew the artist was right; Brennan needed time and space. She needed to adjust and face this new reality. And then, when she came to him... he could help her. He was just afraid that that wasn't going to happen.

He took a route to the lab that avoided temptation. If he passed by her street, odds were that he would end up in her driveway.

It was with mild annoyance, but not much surprise, that he noted Sweets vehicle in the parking garage when he pulled in. And the shrink had even taken the forethought to park in Booth's usual spot. Nice.

The team was gathered on the platform when the doors gushed open to let him into the lab, and they all turned around in unison. Angela pushed through them and waved for him to hurry up.

"You got something?" he surmised at once, picking up his pace and jogging up the platform steps.

"The DNA results just came back," she answered quickly, her hand landing on his arm and pushing him through the others.

"Damn," he said, shaking his head as he glanced at the matching charts flashing on all the main platform screens.

"Four masked men with guns entered a convenience store in 2008," Cam started. "Things went bad; the owner tried to hit the silent alarm, and one of the men started firing. Killed the owner and a teenage girl who was trying to buy a soda. The rest of them fled with the money. One, however, was clipped in the arm with a round that ricocheted. All on the surveillance cameras, which they didn't bother disabling or destroying during the robbery. Thankfully."

"And the blood matched Rory's," Booth said with a shake of his head.

"Yes, it did. He wasn't the shooter, but he was one of the thieves."

"And he's complicit in the crime," he said dully. "Great."

"Well, we caught another criminal," Angela offered.

"The wrong one. And this completely explains why he wouldn't want to offer his DNA to us. Which means he probably really isn't involved in Maggie's murder at all. He doesn't know anything."

"He knows who fired the gun in that convenience store," Hodgins said in a low voice.

"That will be up to the DA to deal with. He'll cut a deal, I'm sure. I'll let them know who they've got, unless you have anything else for me?"

"Not yet," Angela said, but there was some promise there. "Soon, though."

He nodded, and then moved away from the group, dialing Charlie to fill him in on the latest.

It turned out the other agent was overwhelmed with his own challenging case; Tanner had put him working with Cooper on the lead of a much more public case, with the press breathing down their necks and barely any evidence working for them. He didn't envy him, but was grateful when Charlie agreed to get the message heard so that Rory could be properly handled.

He turned back to the platform in time to see Angela hurrying towards her office, Hodgins hot on her heels. At first glance, he thought something was wrong. But then he realized that the rest of the group was suddenly in a flurry of motion as well.

"What happened?" he called to Cam, jogging back to the rest of them, his eyes following Angela as she disappeared through her door.

"She just got a hit on the employee pictures that you asked her to run, from the Turner database."

Immediately, he was following the other two.

He didn't knock when he reached the door, but rather just pushed it open and moved to stand beside Hodgins as Angela sifted through the images on her screen.

The flashing scan in the corner revealed matching facial markers. A moment later, a picture flew up to join the first.

"Patrick Hogan," Angela said, turning to face both of the men.

Booth's jaw was set tightly, and he just gave one quick nod. "Alright," he said softly. "Alright."

"Isn't that the stalker?" said another voice from the doorway. All three of them turned to see Sweets standing there, his wide eyes focused on the large screen.

"Yeah, it is," Booth filled in, when it was clear the others didn't plan to say anything.

"He didn't tell you he was at the building that night?"

"No, he failed to mention it." Booth replied tersely. "What do you think? Does his profile fit the killer?"

Sweets thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Honestly, I can see it. And it would explain the conflicts, as well. He had feelings for her, but also hated her because of her relationship with someone else. Classic stalker behavior."

"So he didn't go there planning to kill her," Hodgins filled in.

"No," agreed the shrink. "He didn't plan to. But a part of him probably thought about it ahead of time. He probably wanted to give her one last chance to be with him. So he didn't bring the weapon, he found it there."

"And what? He went and got it after she rejected him?"

"It's possible he took it with him, and kept it out of sight. Almost like a back-up plan. He wouldn't be a man that handled rejection well."

Hodgins was nodding. Angela just looked disgruntled by the whole idea.

"Why the fire, then?" Booth queried.

"Guilty consciences usually lead killers to bury their victims carefully. But as we see when a killer shoots his victim in the face, they can't deal with what they've done. So rather than taking care of the body, he left it where he was and tried to destroy all signs of her identity. I never said he was smart; leaving her in her own apartment building certainly didn't help him hide anything."

"And the fire would have aided his escape as well," Booth realized suddenly. "With the alarms going off, he'd have been able to leave with everyone else. In the chaos, no one would notice another person heading down a fire escape and slipping off into the night down an alley."

"Which explains why we don't have a picture of him from the later footage," Angela mentioned, speaking for the first time since Sweets had arrived. She pulled up the security images of the crowd gathered in front of the building, the smoke billowing from a fifth story window. "I tested everyone earlier, to see if they matched the profile of the mystery man, but none of them matched. So none of these people, even the ones that are hard to see, are Hogan."

"So he wad definitely gone by the time this picture was taken," Sweets said. "Because the fire trucks are here," he pointed to the corner of one, visible on the edge of the picture, "And they didn't find anyone on their way in, besides people who were in their own apartments, who weren't bright enough to leave."

Angela was shaking her head sadly. Her cursor pulled a picture of Maggie from when she had been alive onto the screen. "Twenty-five years old, and involved in an elicit affair. And just when she wants to end it, the only thing she probably _didn't_ see coming... kills her."

Booth sighed. "It's not a fair world. Never has been..."

They all knew that he didn't mean just for Maggie. He meant for everyone... but for Brennan especially, who had deserved this least of all.

"Can I come along for the arrest?" Sweets asked.

Booth hesitated, and then shook his head. He felt somewhat bad, for crushing the younger man's hopes. But at the same time, he felt like this was his case. His and Brennan's case, that had been dropped down to just _his_. He wanted it to stay that way... he didn't want to start with Brennan by his side on this one, and end with someone else tagging along. No, he wanted to do this for her, and do it the way it should be done.

And then, _then_, he was going to go to her place, tell her the good news, and make sure that not only was she okay... but that _they_ were okay as well. He needed to know that they were going to be able to work together again. That this wasn't the end of everything.

Sweets took it well, though. He just nodded his acceptance respectfully, and then took up a conversation with Hodgins as Booth stepped away and left, alone, to drive once more to the Turner building, for what would hopefully be the very last time.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

To finally have the case in the palm of his hand, to have the answers all wrapped up neatly, made Booth almost certain that something else was going to go wrong when he arrived. He very nearly expected to be informed that Patrick Hogan had taken a sick day, and be forced to hunt him down at the local airports.

Instead, though, Hogan was sitting in his cubicle, typing on his computer as if it was any other day. He looked surprised to see Booth, in fact. He almost fell off of his chair.

"I think you know why I'm here," Booth said calmly.

The lawyers were perched to the side, keeping watch. They couldn't stop Booth from serving the warrant that a judge in a good mood had been nice enough to pass through for him in a rush. He had waited out front until Caroline had given him the go-ahead over the phone. So, while they were less than pleased by the turn of events, they could not legally stop him.

He held the cuffs in front of him, dangling off his finger, and raised an eyebrow.

Hogan swallowed dryly, his forehead breaking out in beads of sweat.

"You already lied to me once. Let's not try to do it again, shall we? Stand up."

Shakily, he got to his feet, pushing the rolling chair back under his desk. The other employees were peering over the tops of their cubicles, watching the spectacle with widened-eyes and near-comical expressions. Sue Travers in her office hadn't stood up. She still had her phone pressed to her ear, with her mouth hanging open as she stared through the glass walls that surrounded her. Carol Davis was whispering rapidly to the woman in the cubicle beside hers, pointing and gesturing with her hands.

"Patrick Hogan," he said, turning the other man around snapping the cuffs around his wrists. "You are under arrest for the murder of Margaret Singer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

He led the way out of the office, the stares following them and the whispers spreading. James and Daniel Drake stood outside their office, next to the secretary desk where Linda was looking as flustered as usual. Both men nodded to him, acknowledging the capture of the man responsible. His eyes glazed icily over James, and he turned his attention to the elevator, stepping inside with the lawyers keeping to the side.

It was strangely silent; he was reminded of the part of a movie where they play some powerful song in the background while they slow the camera down to show the walk out in cuffs. There was nothing like that, though. Only the cold silence. An occasional cough from the handcuffed man, a shuffle of feet on the floor.

And then the quiet ride back to the Hoover building, with the lawyers following smoothly in their high price-tag vehicle behind.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"He's not talking?" Charlie asked, nodding towards the man on the other side of the mirror, who was currently speaking in low voices with his lawyers.

"Not with us, no."

"But you know it's him, right?"

"Oh, the lab proved that beyond a doubt. And the evidence all lines up. He killed her."

"Fry him," Charlie said firmly, with a nod.

"Oh, I plan to."

"Good. When you're finished with that, I could really use a fresh set of eyes on this other case."

"I thought you just got assigned to it?"

"My eyes got tired fast. Not that there's much to look at... not a shred of evidence on this one. Maybe you're team might like to take a peek?"

"I thought this was Cooper's case?"

"Half his," Charlie agreed grudgingly. "He's arrogant as all hell, though. And he has a way of pissing me off without really trying. Plus, he's too young to be working such a high-profile deal. Got no clue why Tanner let him have it in the first place."

"And he hates my team," Booth tossed in with a raised eyebrow.

That, and he didn't know if he was even going to have a team, when this was over. If Brennan took even more time off, if she left them behind for good... where would that leave the rest of them? They were all remarkably good in their respective fields, but they all knew that she was the glue that held it together. They all stuck around because of her, no matter what happened. And when Cam had threatened to fire her, they all were ready to pack their bags and follow her out the door. He just didn't know how it would be the same. Hell, he didn't know if he'd be able to keep working with them if that happened.

The offer on his desk itched at the back of his mind.

Maybe it was time he seriously considered a different path for his future.

"I'll leave you to it," Charlie said, giving him a clap on the shoulder. "Come talk to me once you've gotten him to fold, though, alright? Screw Cooper."

Booth nodded after him, forcing a laugh.

He stayed in the observation room for a moment, watching the interactions on the opposite side, until he knew he couldn't stand still any longer. He jerked open the door and stepped into the hallway, pausing only for a moment before he moved into the interrogation room.

Joel, who had been standing, pulled his seat over and took a position on the end of the table. If he was going to try to be an obstacle between Booth and his target, though, he really didn't know him very well.

He let the file fall with a slap onto the hard surface, and then pulled out his chair and dropped into it calmly.

"You had to have known this was coming," he said finally, after he let the silence hang long enough to make it uncomfortable.

"I don't know what you mean," Hogan said. His voice was a stammer, and his nerves were all a mess. Booth could see veins popping out on his neck, and he had yet to stop sweating. His shirt collar was soaked through.

"Well, Mr. Hogan, you can't expect to just get away with it, when you kill someone."

"Don't say anything," Kevin advised firmly.

"Although you had us going for a while," Booth continued, ignoring the interruption. "Knowing about the affair certainly helped you; put us on the wrong track for a couple of days, didn't it?"

"I didn't kill her," Hogan argued, his voice higher than normal.

"You don't have to answer any of his questions," Joel reminded swiftly, glaring at Booth as if this was his fault.

"Do you know what this is?" Booth asked, dropping the picture of him entering the building in front of him.

"It looks like a blob," Kevin tossed in loosely. "I hope you have more evidence than that, Agent Both. Otherwise this looks like it's going to be a waste of all of our time."

"Forensics matches your face to this man, Patrick. Because you were there. And right now, we're running that DNA that we collected from you when you arrived. Do you want to tell me what's going to happen when we compare it to the DNA we found on the baseball bat used to bash Maggie's head in?"

Hogan stayed silent, a bead of sweat dripping down to hang on the end of his nose.

"You were following her," Booth filled in. "You cared about her... you took pictures and you wrote her this letter, because you saw her sleeping with Jameson Turner." He added the picture and the blackmail note to the collection of items in front of the other man. "You wanted her to break things off. You wanted her to be with you."

"I loved her," he said bitterly, raising his eyes imploringly to meet Booth's. "I loved her, and all he wanted was sex."

Booth was nodding, even as both lawyers started murmuring in their client's ears.

"I know you loved her. You loved her so much, that you didn't know what to do when you couldn't have her. You followed her that night, didn't you, Patrick?"

"Don't answer that."

"I followed her, but I didn't kill her, okay? I followed her home... I just wanted to talk!"

"Alright, you just wanted to talk. So what happened? Did you see her?"

"The doorman left his post. I... I had thought I would meet her across the street, but then I decided to wait inside. It was late, and cold."

"Right. You wanted to be more comfortable when you approached her."

"Exactly," he said, looking relieved at the understanding note that Booth had put in his voice.

"We are advising you not to say anything else, Patrick," Kevin broke in.

Now, though, Hogan seemed incapable of stopping. He rambled, "She... she got home, and she got in the elevator. I just... I went up the stairs. She lived on the fifth floor, so I got there before her. The elevator is slow; it always has been." It was clear he had been in the building before. Whether or not he had talked to Maggie those times, though, Booth wouldn't know. All that mattered right now was this one time. This one time when things had gone bad.

"And then what happened?"

"I just... I tried to talk to her. I waited for her, but she wouldn't talk to me. She wouldn't even look at me."

"And that made you angry," Booth said, nodding in understanding and waiting for Hogan to push onwards with that reassurance. They always liked to be understood, for some reason. It made them feel like it was more justifiable, when they finished their confession.

"Yeah, it did."

"Where did you find the bat?"

"I think I got it from the closet, down in the lobby. I... saw the doorman put it there, before. I don't know why I took it... I just... _did_."

"And what happened next?"

"Patrick," both the lawyers said, almost simultaneously.

"Our client has nothing more to say," Kevin added in, glaring as if Booth would find it menacing. He barely spared him a glance.

"I don't know," Hogan said, his voice falling apart. "She was just... lying there. Just... lying there."

Booth nodded silently. It was over.

This case was finally over.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Did you call Brennan?" Cam asked, as they all took a gulp of their drinks in toast to the closing of the case.

Booth nodded, swallowing. "Yeah. She... didn't want to come. But she was glad that the case was closed. She said congratulations to everyone."

Angela made a face, breathing out a slow breath and staring down at the drink she had cradled between her hands on the bar.

"I should go talk to her," she said at last. "She was just as much a part of catching this guy as the rest of us. She should be here."

The others murmured their agreement.

"I should have gone over myself," Booth added softly, pausing before he took another long swig of his scotch.

"No one can make Brennan do something she doesn't want to," Cam reminded them. "I know it's hard without her around, and I even want to make sure that she's okay... but she's never been very open with us about private things."

"Still," Hodgins pointed out. "She can't honestly expect to just go through this alone. I mean... we all know. So it's not like she's got anything to hide."

"She's a strong and independent person going through a lot... she's got plenty to hide," Cam reasoned.

Booth shifted on his barstool, not entirely comfortable with where this conversation was going. It almost felt like they were talking about Brennan behind her back, and he didn't like it even slightly.

"I could always go talk to her," Sweets suggested.

"No," they chorused as one, and the shrink deflated and turned back to his drink.

"I'm just glad this is over," Booth tossed in, changing the subject.

"You and me both," Angela agreed with a long-suffered sigh. "This week... was longer than I'd have liked."

This was the part where Brennan would point out the interest of the phenomenon that caused certain time lapses to seem to last longer than others, when in fact they were the same length. He took another drink from his glass and motioned to the bartender for a refill. He needed a distraction.

"You know, I thought for sure that doorman was involved," Hodgins mentioned.

"Because there wasn't a butler?" Angela asked with a smirk.

"Hey, it's common sense. It's always the person that you least expect. And who would expect that kid? I mean... he didn't fit the part at all."

"Well, in a way you were right," Sweets pointed out. "No one would have suspected that he was involved in an armed robbery."

They all nodded in agreement.

"Any idea what will happen to him?" Angela asked, glancing at Booth and Sweets, who would be the most likely to know.

"He'll probably get a deal, if he agrees to give up the names of the other robbers. And if that works out for him, there's a chance he won't serve any actual time. He'll probably get parole, or maybe some time on house arrest."

"He could use rehab, as well," Sweets added.

Booth shook his head, though. "I doubt it. Odds are... he'll be right back in custody pretty soon for possession or something of the like."

"Sad but true," Cam agreed.

"I should probably get going," said Sweets into the following silence, pushing his beer away from him. "It's getting late, and Daisy's waiting for me."

"Yeah, with our kids," Hodgins added, glancing at Angela. "Sorry about that; we should probably head out as well, and pick them up. Your tab's on us," he added, tossing a couple of bills on the bar and nodding to the bartender.

"Thanks," Sweets said, grinning. "Need a ride?"

"We rode over with Booth, so yeah... if it's not too much trouble."

As Hodgins was speaking, though, Angela was turning to Booth and pulling him aside.

"I know you're going to go to Brennan's," she said, and he opened his mouth before shutting it again. How she knew these things, he didn't know. But she wasn't wrong. "Make sure she's okay. Please. And... call me, if you need anything. Or if _she_ needs anything. Understood? I don't care what time it is when you call, just do it."

"If I need you, I'll call," he promised, and she stepped away, satisfied, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks," she whispered, and then stepped away to lean her head tiredly against Hodgins' shoulder. Their group of three left the bar, and he sat back down on his stool beside Cam, who didn't look like she was ready to depart yet, either.

They'd invited Harper along as well, but he didn't seem to have much interest in their group without his mentor present, and had elected to stay behind to work on a couple more Limbo cases. He was welcome to them, as far as Booth was concerned. To be honest, he had never been a very big fan of any of Brennan's interns after Zach. The kid had originally bothered him – freaked him out a little, really – but he had grown to like him. After that, it was a lot harder to get attached to any of the new ones. Especially her more recent ones, who thankfully weren't as long term.

"You plan on leaving soon?" he asked lightly.

"Maybe," she said with a shrug. "I don't have anywhere to be."

He offered a sad smile. "Me neither."

"It sounded to me like you were going to see Dr. Brennan."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "To be honest, I don't know if she would want to see me."

"Of course she would," Cam said with an impatient sound tutting from the back of the throat. "She might be headstrong and independent, and probably angry as all hell right now about things out of her control... but she's still your partner. And if there's anyone that she would be happy to see on her doorstep... it's you."

He hesitated, and she practically pushed him off the barstool.

"Go," she said firmly. "And let me know how it turns out."

Running his hand up and down the back of his neck, he closed his mouth and nodded, stepping out of the bar and hailing the first taxi he saw. He directed them to Brennan's address before he could change his mind.

The ride seemed too short, and he barely had any idea what he was going to say to her before he found himself standing in front of her home. And once at her door, he faced another internal battle before he could finally get himself to raise his hand just to knock.

There was no response from inside, and he didn't hear her move towards the door. It was late; past nine. Her son was certainly in bed by now. But there was light streaming from behind the curtains, showing him that she was awake and most likely in her living room. The changes in the pattern of color told him that her television was on.

He knocked again, just a little louder. He suspected she had heard him the first time, but he wanted to be sure.

When once again he got no response, he changed his tactic. "Brennan, it's me!" he called, tilting his head to try and see through the glass paneling that ran up the left side of the doorway.

This time it took a moment, but he heard footsteps coming towards him, and then she appeared through the glass, and moved in front of the door. He heard a lock pulled loose, and then the door opened and she was standing there in front of him, one hand tucked behind her in the back pocket of her jeans, the other resting on the door, as if she was waiting to shut it. Her hair fell long and loose around her face, and it looked like she hadn't bothered to style it in several days. Not that it mattered; it would have looked beautiful no matter what she did with it.

He offered a smile, hoping to put her at ease, and watched with relief as her features softened. She hesitated, her expression twisting, and then she stepped out of the way without saying a word.

Booth stepped past her and into the front hallway, and he listened as she softly shut the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," he said. If she had asked, he honestly wouldn't have been able to say for what. For what her husband had done, for what he had failed to do all those years ago, for just dropping by so unexpectedly? It just felt like it needed to be said, and she nodded, sucking in her lower lip and staring down at the carpet below their feet.

It felt good to see her, even under these circumstances. These past few days, he'd felt like a drowning man, floundering without her, without knowing how she was doing. Seeing her for himself was like a rescue all on its own.

Appearances could be deceiving, but he knew her well enough to see straight through the seemingly normal façade. She seemed relaxed, in her typical reserved sort of way. But he could see the emotion broiling in her eyes like a storm. He knew that she had been spending a lot of time thinking, and a lot of time hurting.

He wished he knew a way to change that.

Maybe that was partially what he was sorry for; that he couldn't change the past.

"I hadn't expected it to be the stalker," she said, breaking the silence and speaking for the first time. Her voice wasn't the same. It was somewhat hoarse and raw, and she cleared her throat, eyes darting away again, desperately hoping he wouldn't call her on it. He didn't.

"Neither was I, actually. He was too nervous about the blackmail for me to notice that he was panicked about something else as well. That's actual what saved him, for a while at least."

She nodded.

"I'm glad, you know," she said at last. They were still standing in her hallway, but neither of them seemed capable of moving.

"About what?" he asked.

"This case. I'm... glad that it turned out the way it did. That it... told me the truth."

He swallowed. That was understandable. Anyone in her situation would want the truth over the continuance of a lie; knowing was so much better than being deceived over and over again, no matter how painful it turned out to be.

"Is that strange?" she asked when he didn't respond, her insecurity showing through for the briefest of moments.

"No, of course not," he reassured her. "That's actually... completely normal."

She twisted her lip between her teeth.

"Why don't you... come sit down. I'll... I think I have some beer in the fridge, or I could make coffee..."

"Coffee sounds good," he said. He'd probably had enough to drink tonight, already. He had been the first one to the bar. And he wanted to make sure this conversation was one that he didn't mess up. Because tonight... was probably going to be very important, down the road.

He followed her into the living room, and took a seat on her couch as she continued through to the kitchen, shutting off the television as she went. It looked like she'd been watching some documentary. He doubted she'd even been paying attention to it; ever since she'd gotten a TV, he remembered hearing her say that it was better background noise than anything else.

In her absence, he looked around the room, taking in the framed pictures of her and her son, and a few empty spots where there had clearly been pictures that included James. It hadn't taken her long to get rid of them, although he doubted she'd thrown them out. They were probably neatly piled somewhere, out of sight.

The fireplace mantle was lined with what appeared to be art projects. On the end, he noted a birthday card drawn in crayon, the writing clearly done by an adult, but the rest of it drawn by Brennan's son. He suddenly remembered the day, in the lab. Angela had helped Nick make the card in her office, while Brennan had been working.

She returned with the two steaming mugs, and handed one to him, glancing first at the chair that he figured was probably her normal seat, before she settled at the opposite end of the couch.

"Angela's worried about you," he said, as he tested the hot liquid with a careful sip.

"I know," she said with a sigh, her gaze flitting away guiltily.

"I'm worried about you, too," he added cautiously.

She bit her lip, cradling her mug between her hands.

"I wish you wouldn't," she murmured softly, at last.

"We're partners, Brennan. I'm always going to worry about you."

She just nodded, still not looking at him.

He had no idea what she was thinking. No idea what could be going through her head, to convince her that she was right about this. He wished she would let him in, and talk the way they used to talk in the long hours after a case, when it felt like they could share anything without judgment, without fear, and know that the other would still be there.

"I'm thinking of leaving the Jeffersonian," she whispered into the silence.

"...What?" he asked, frowning. He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly, but with a sinking feeling, he realized he probably had.

"I'm thinking of leaving the lab," she repeated, turning to face him this time. Her eyes were filled with something he couldn't even identify. It looked like sorrow, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. He had no idea what to say to her.

"For... how long?"

"Permanently," she said, taking a steadying breath. "I'm thinking of resigning."

"And... our partnership?"

She gave him a sad smile, but if faltered. "Our partnership hasn't really been a partnership for a while now, Booth. We... we both know that. And... I'm sorry." There was a hitch in her voice, a restriction in the way she swallowed past something that he felt might have been the start of a sob.

He found himself shaking his head, staring at her with no clue what the emotions running through his system were. He couldn't decide if he was angry, frustrated, hurt, or just plain sad. And the look on her face was breaking him down the more he looked.

"You—you're pretty sure of this?" he finally managed to force out.

"Yeah. Yeah... I—I am. I need to be with Nick. And I just... I don't think I can do this job anymore. I _can't_ do this job anymore," she amended, her resolve strengthening.

How could he possibly talk her out of _that?_ How could he tell her that he didn't want her to leave when she was making all the right choices? He had always been the one telling her to put love first, to put family above all else. That was what she was doing now. And this... this was something she clearly believed she needed to do. For herself, for Nick...

He nodded once, running his tongue over his lower lip and turning to let his head hang down so he could just stare at the floor.

"I understand," he said quietly. And he did. He really did.

That didn't mean he had to enjoy it. Didn't mean he didn't have to go through every memory in his head over and over again with the reminder tagging its way onto every one to tell him _never again_.

He reached over to clasp her hand with his, and he met her eyes for a long moment. They stayed that way, locked, her hand and his squeezing the other tightly. Seeking a lifeline, and knowing that when they let go, there was no going back.

Twelve years of partnership. Twelve years of friendship and trials fought together. Twelve years of protecting each other, and twelve years of learning each others flaws and strengths and rolling with what came at them.

Finally, after all of it... the smoke was clearing.

And it was over.

**All of you have been so amazing with the feedback, and I'm pleased to tell you that this story is now fully planned out and I have a finished outline ready to be turned into chapters. I am also around six chapters or so ahead at the moment, so you can continue to expect a new chapter every Tuesday :) **

**Also, for anyone interested, I will begin to put up my other story, Hidden, this Friday. That one has 35 chapters typed and ready to go, and I'll likely be updating it every other day or something of the like. It's an angsty, emotional ride with a few darker twists, and the prologue is already up, and has been for a while, as sort of a teaser and an aid to the time-lapse concept, because the story takes place a year after the prologue... on May 6th, 2011-hence the reason I'm updating on Friday. I hope some of you might enjoy it just as much as you are enjoying this story :)  
**


	16. The Scientist

**A/N: Here we are again! This one is The Scientist by Coldplay. I hope you all enjoy. (And please take note of the date! We've jumped forward a bit!)**

_Chapter 15: The Scientist_

_I was just guessing  
At numbers and figures  
Pulling the puzzles apart  
Questions of science  
Science and progress  
Do not speak as loud as my heart_

_Tell me you love me  
Come back and haunt me  
Oh, and I rush to the start  
Running in circles  
Chasing our tails  
Coming back as we are_

_Nobody said it was easy  
Oh it's such a shame for us to part  
Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be so hard  
I'm going back to the start_

_June 8__th__, 2018_

The thin ulna bone looked blurry in front of her. Her fingers ran down its length, catching on slight bumps and creases; tracing over the thin scar that encircled where it had once been broken.

She sighed, setting it down beside its fellows and resting the heels of her hands on the cold edge of the table. In all honesty, she didn't think she belonged back here. The lab felt cold, where it had always been warm. Eyes were watching her whenever she came up from Limbo, whenever she crossed the room. It was as if she couldn't escape from scrutiny, even within the walls of her own sanctuary. It was bad enough that the reporters had gathered outside for several days now, after catching wind of the story.

She gripped the pen too tightly as she picked up the clipboard and made a few marks. Almost unconsciously, she glanced over her shoulder at the stack of boxes waiting for her. The last remnants of her life at the Jeffersonian. The cases that she had put her name on, some of them ones that she had looked through but hadn't had time to finish, some that she had been asked to go through but had never gotten around to.

This was what she was doing here, back at the Jeffersonian. She was closing these files for good. If she couldn't fill in the blanks, she would hand them over to someone else to take care of. But she could not abandon them without a second glance, even if she was leaving her career here behind her. They deserved one last look from her experienced eyes, because she had promised that much when she had signed her name on each of them.

Nick was being watched by Julie for now. While the events had been shocking to the nanny, Brennan had reassured her that her job remained the same. The locks had been changed at last, and she had instructions to not let James in if he were to show up. If he needed anything, he'd have to call her himself, and she'd take care of it. He was not showing up unexpectedly; not on her watch.

The closing of the case had been a relief, at least. The real killer was behind bars, awaiting his bail hearing, which would be occurring any day now. From his troubled demeanor, odds were in their favor that bail wouldn't be granted.

In all honesty, she knew very little about the actual workings that had led to the arrest, though. She had barely spoken to the other team members since her return to work. They mostly avoided eye contact after she blocked them out, and they were quick to supply the necessary information that she was requesting, without adding any personal details. She suspected Angela was behind it; her best friend had been keeping a cautious distance as well, obviously hoping that with some time and space, she would come around on her own and talk about what she was going through.

She didn't know if that was ever going to happen, but for now... she was just appreciating being left alone. Any conversation would have felt forced and pitying, and it already seemed like they were all watching her too closely, as though they expected her to break if they weren't careful.

It was a feeling she remembered, from long ago, and it brought back prickles of anger at her own inability to get away. She had never wanted nor asked for pity. All she wanted was for things to be exactly the way they had been before. Only, that wasn't going to happen. Because things weren't the same, and no matter how hard she tried to fight it, the reality was always knocking on her door in every face she saw and every stare she caught just before they flicked their gaze away.

The bones before her now replaced any need for contact that she might have wanted. They were all she needed for company, all she needed to feel at peace in her surroundings. And so long as she stayed here, down in Limbo, she was safe. Besides, she wouldn't be here much longer. Two days, at the most. She had given Cam her notice at the beginning of the week, and had already cleared out the more dominant of her office decorations. All that remained were a few things, the majority of which she intended to offer to the museum.

Her office was another reason to isolate herself down here, far away. The bare surfaces and cold atmosphere made her feel lost. The room had been her home for so long that it was alarming to see it in such a state. The couch had been her second bed; the desk had offered her a barrier to the world. From behind it, she had been able to see the whole platform. She had felt in control. She had felt like she belonged.

Saying goodbye was not nearly as easy as she had imagined it would be. Somewhere deep down, she had known it wouldn't be. And yet, she had still hoped that she might be able to sever her connections and move on. A clean break, she had told herself. But it was never clean; the past had taught her that in the harshest of ways. This would be no different.

Telling Booth that she was ending their partnership had been one of the most challenging parts of the process. Through everything, no matter where they stood in their relationship, no matter if they were fighting or upset with one another... she had always known they were partners. She had always known that he would be there for her, and she would be there for him. The partnership had been like a safety net; if she could not trust herself to have more with him, then she would ensure that nothing happened to break the strongest bond she had ever been a part of. That was a large part of the reason she had so adamantly tried to protect it, desperately pleading with him to still work with her, even after she had turned him down for a relationship.

Leaving all that behind left a gauged hole in her chest. She could still feel her heart beating, and it was totally illogical... but it felt duller. Muted, through the destruction. Or maybe like... there was a weight pressing down on it, trapping it under layers and sending agony slicing through her at the slightest suggestion of his name.

She shivered slightly, subconsciously tracing a hand up to rest over her chest. She felt the throb, and it was like a shattered cry repeating over and over again against her fingers. She let her arm fall back at her side, catching herself on the edge of the table again and taking a harsh, steadying breath.

No matter how difficult it was, she did need to get out of here. She couldn't be here, couldn't be around these people and all these memories that the walls held. They whispered secrets to her, made her remember that day in the lounge, eating doughnuts when Booth was supposed to be leaving for a date. Made her remember the night in her office when they drank shots out of Dixie cups and he promised to never betray her. Made her remember the first day she had brought Nick to the lab, as just a small baby cradled in her arms, and the team had gathered around, cooing over him, while Booth stood to her side, smiling softly and offering his soft but sincere congratulations.

She closed her eyes, trying to block it all from returning to her once more. She didn't need to feel it, didn't need to recollect all the warm happiness that had transformed into icy regret that froze her in place, helpless and weak with nowhere to turn for respite from the storm.

It was all too much, being here. Somehow, all these years, she had survived surrounded by all of this. After what happened with James, though... it seemed almost like she had cracked. Like her demeanor had shattered and her locks had come undone and everything she'd been trying to keep behind her walls had flooded in, over the edges and through the cracks until she couldn't breathe under the weight.

It was like she was drowning in the open air.

Slowly, mechanically, she began to package the bones back into their clear container, making a few more notes on the papers and sliding them into the front before she lifted it.

How many times had she done this? Especially back in the earliest days, the ones that she should have trouble recalling but could still picture with crystal clear detail? When he had first begun working with her, she had spent all her spare time between cases plowing through these Limbo files, one after the other. They had been the entirety of her life prior to his involvement, and they had still played a large role during that first year. Until he started prying her away, dragging her out to the living, getting her to do paperwork with him at his apartment rather than spend another lonely night locked down here, in bone storage, with just the dead for company.

Back to the beginning; it would have been poetic, if it had not hurt so much. Or maybe that was the poetry in it, the pain itself. Either way, she couldn't bring herself to care much. She was not a poet nor a gambler. There were a lot of things she was not, and so few that she was, it seemed.

She hadn't spoken to Booth in eight days. It shouldn't feel so strange; they had often gone days without contact during these past five months... but this seemed different. More finalizing, more empty. They both knew where things were heading and where they were right now. They both were aware that everything was changing, and that she had set the wheels in motion once again.

In all honesty, she didn't know what was going to happen next between them. Maybe she would never see him again, when she walked out of the Jeffersonian for the last time. Maybe they would become the kind of people who bumped into each other every few months at the Diner or the grocery store.

She could live with that... or, at least, she would find a way to live with it.

He hadn't said anything about continuing to work at the lab, though, and she hadn't asked. Now, she wondered if he would. Her intern was just finishing up his doctorate, and would be perfectly capable of insisting with investigations... but she remembered how different it had been in the past, when they had attempted to work with other people. There was every chance that Booth might give up working with the lab just like she had. There was every chance he would move on with his career; she knew that he had been holding back for a long time, to maintain their partnership. It was another heavy weight of guilt he had given her to carry.

This could make that go away.

And... if she did run into him on the sidewalk a few years from now, and he told her he had met someone knew and was getting married... she would be happy for him. Right now, the thought still sent tremors to her heart... but they were ill-deserved tremors, and after a few years... she could make them go away. She wouldn't feel that way anymore, and she wouldn't feel any more sorry for herself than she did now. Because she wasn't sorry for herself.

She hated herself.

And he should hate her, too.

With the way she had treated him, with the way she had treated everyone at one time or another... they should _all_ hate her. And if she was perfectly honest with herself, she knew that she didn't deserve any of their attention. Maybe that was the other reason why Angela's distance was a blessing. It only made her feel worse, seeing all the concern that her friend felt for her, when she didn't even deserve it. What had she ever done for the people around her? She had a hard time acknowledging their problems or understanding them, she was confused by their actions and condescending at points – she still remembered Angela questioning why they were even friends when she hadn't understood why her friend wanted to save that piglet. And she had never been able to explain herself, either. She was terrible at it, which was why Angela still didn't know that Brennan hadn't wanted to help because she hadn't wanted Angela to dwell on the pig, and realize that she couldn't save all the others in the same predicament. That no amount of money could keep those people from putting more and more pigs up to rescued, and getting more and more money from people for it as they went.

So she had apologized and given Ange the money she needed. And they had gone back to being the friends they had always been.

But still, there was that lingering doubt that she lived with to this day, that she wasn't the kind of friend that Angela deserved. The artist had been a carefree spirit when she had arrived... she had been horrified by the cases they worked, and Brennan had convinced her to stay among the death and pain. A selfish plea to keep her friend, when Angela wasn't the kind of person that should be working with the dead. And now she was almost like the rest of them, unaffected by the next dead body to cross the table. As curious and caring as always, but no longer freaked out by autopsies or rotting skulls.

_Angela made up her own mind to stay,_ her rational side reminded her, but she pushed the thought away. She had played a role in that, and it wasn't something she could deny.

Slowly, she laid out the next set of bones on the lighted table, watching the shadows they formed. It was one of her favorite parts of the job; it reminded her of the excitement in college as she had memorized the names of even the smallest bones. It was the hands and feet that had always been the most challenging, and now she would do both with practiced ease.

She was just setting out the metatarsals when she heard the door open behind her. Her back stiffening slightly, she rolled her tongue over her lips and pushed onwards, her fingers nimbly laying each bone in it's proper place.

It was Angela; she knew without having to turn around. Her friend didn't speak, though. She simply stayed by the door, watching.

Only when she had finished aligning the foot correctly did she turn to face her.

"Hey sweetie," Ange said, forcing a smile. "You've, uh... been down here for a while."

"I've been working," she answered stiffly, brushing a loose strand of hair up behind her ear.

"I can see that," she muttered, crossing her arms, her eyebrows raised as she looked around the workspace. "There were... a lot more boxes down here."

"I'm very efficient. And I'm on a schedule," she said, swiftly brushing past her to grab a tray of tools and pull it over to the table. She picked up a rib that showed cracking, and scraped a sample from the injury, frowning as she dropped the particulates into a tube.

Angela gave a soft sigh, but didn't say anything else.

But she wasn't going to leave, something that became apparent after several minutes passed in silence, both of them resolutely continuing with their objectives – Brennan working diligently and Angela standing firmly in exactly the same place.

"Do you need something?" she asked at last, when the sensation of being watched became too much.

"Lunch would be nice," Angela answered briskly, raising an eyebrow questioningly and watching her closely.

She scowled, turning her attention away for a moment before she sighed and straightened up.

"Fine. But... I don't want to talk."

Angela shrugged, unfazed, and led the way out of Limbo.

Reluctantly, almost tempted to lock the door behind her and stay right here with her bones, she peeled off her gloves and followed. This was probably a bad idea, but Angela was one of those people that was damn near impossible to turn down when she wanted something badly enough.

And if Brennan still wanted to keep her friendship, then she should start mending bridges. After all, no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn't give it up. She needed Angela in her life; she was the only best friend she had ever had, and one of the few people that she trusted. So if Angela wanted to be around her so badly... then she was going to accept the proffered hand and let herself be led. But that didn't mean she had to like this, or that she was going to listen to any of the advice her friend had to offer. Not if it was about Booth.

And Angela knew about the impending divorce, too, so there was a good chance that most of her questions would revolve around that. The thought of it alone was enough to tempt her to hop in her own car when they reached the parking lot, and simply drive home to hide. It was childish, not to mention foolish, but it didn't lessen the desire. Maintaining her control, though, she found herself level with Angela as they came out of bone storage and re-entered the lab itself.

Hodgins glanced up from his microscope, offering them a smile in greeting, and it almost seemed genuine, _normal_. If only it weren't for the concern that she saw in the lines across his forehead as his eyes focused more attentively on her, rather than his wife.

She nodded to him, pursing her lips and quickening her strides. A few other scientists in the traditional blue Jeffersonian coats stepped out of her way, murmuring to each other. She felt their gazes on her back, and she found herself practically running out the glass doors, reaching the elevator long before Angela, and diving in just as they were closing behind the retreating form of another doctor heading out and down the hall towards the offices.

The doors shut before she could even think of Angela, and she shivered in silence, wrapping her arms around herself as she elevator shuddered down the short one floor to the parking garage. And once she was there, she paced back and forth, running her fingers raggedly through her hair and trying to calm her thoughts.

It would all be over shortly. She was done at the lab. She was leaving. She couldn't have to deal with this for much longer.

The elevator opened again, and Angela's wide eyes landed on hers as she froze from her pacing. Almost falling forward, her friend was at her side in an instant, arms wrapping around her shoulders. Brennan stared over the artist's shoulder blankly for a long moment before she finally raised her arms to return the embrace, feeling biting tears swarming up to the edges of her lids. She blinked them away furiously.

"I thought you left," Ange murmured softly, pulling back but keeping her hands possessively on the sides of Brennan's arms.

She shook her head. "No," she murmured, stating the obvious. She didn't meet her eyes.

"Come on," Angela said after a moment. "Let's... get to the restaurant."

She shrugged, and let herself be led to Angela's car.

"We only worry because we care," she said softly, as they were pulling out. Brennan glanced at her sharply, more out of surprise at the comment than because of anything else. "It's true," Angela continued with conviction. "And... I know that this is hard. And that you can't stand people feeling bad for you. But the thing is... you'd feel bad for any of us if we were in the same place. It's just... human reaction. None of us can help it."

She couldn't deny that her friend had a point. Still, she hated feeling like a victim, and being around others in the lab right now... made it all the more prominent.

"I wish you'd stop blocking us out," Angela added softly, her eyes focused on the road. Brennan glanced at her, and then turned to stare out her window, watching the world wash by. "I know you're worried, and you're upset, and I... I'm your best friend. And we're all your family. We want to _protect_ you. We're on _your_ side, no matter what. Because we _love_ you."

"Stop," she said thickly, shaking her head.

Angela fell silent at the sharp word, and they both listened to the road and the traffic, neither saying a word until they pulled up at the Founding Fathers. And even then, they remained quiet as they climbed from their seats and made their way inside, Angela watching her closely, seeming grateful that she had at least consented to continue with lunch rather than fleeing.

Angela got some sort of Mediterranean salad, and Brennan ordered an eggplant dish... and that was the majority of the words spoken in the first five minutes. Their drinks arrived, and Angela sipped at hers in the silence while Brennan played with the corner of her napkin, fraying it and twisting the edges like she used to do as a child when she was out with her parents and bored with the conversation.

"Sorry," she said at last, her voice soft. She cleared her throat and glanced up, meeting Ange's softening brown eyes, a smile pulling up the corners of the artist's mouth.

"It's fine," she said, waving off the apology but smiling enough that Brennan could see it had made a difference.

"I'm just..." she twisted her expression, searching for the right words and hating how hard it was to find them. "It's hard," she settled for at last. "A lot harder than I'd like."

"Hey," Angela said seriously, "It's hardly your fault. And... I get that this is how you handle it. I know that... you have a hard time sharing your problems. I just wanted to make it clear that... you had that option. With not just me, but _all_ of us."

She flattened the thin paper from her straw and creased the edges. "I don't want to make my problems into theirs," she murmured softly, this time not looking up. "Into yours."

"Bad news, sweetie. They became my problems the minute I found out. You aren't going to change that."

A small smile landed unbidden on her face. There was something about the way Angela said it, or maybe it was just the words themselves, but it warmed her spirit in some way that she couldn't help.

"Thank you," she said softly. "And... I'll try not to block you out. I guess it's just... what I do. It makes it easier, in the long run."

"I know, and I understand. But I can't bear to think of you doing this all by yourself. You shouldn't be alone, not through this. Not when you have all of us waiting for you to let us in."

The food arrived in front of them, and she thanked the waitress with a nod, not touching her food as Angela spoke again, barely picking up her own fork as she did so.

"You're going to win this. I know you are."

Brennan swallowed harshly, and forced herself to take a bite of her food, eyes focused on her plate as she chewed.

"Bren."

She looked up, her tongue pushing into the side of her cheek as she waited for more words that she didn't want to hear.

"What are you afraid of?" The question was gentle, prodding, and Angela's eyes were soft, her expression filled with concern and confusion. She closed her eyes. "Brennan," Angela repeated her name again, this time more demandingly. Tentatively, she met her gaze once again. "You think you're going to lose, don't you?" she murmured seriously.

Brennan didn't answer, rolling her gaze away and around to take in the restaurant, her eyes roving over each of the other diners and their conversations.

"Sweetie," Angela said, exasperation taking over. "Could you please look at me?" She did, her eyes dark and probably swimming with far too much emotion. Angela looked at her levelly for a long moment, trying to get through to her, before she said, "Why are you so worried? What did he say to you?"

Of course Angela would figure it out, when she had barely said a word that would hint at it.

"Nothing," she insisted with a sigh. "I'm just... I don't want to deal with it. And Kevin and Joel... they're going to be his lawyers. They are... very good, and they've got a lot of connections. From how James was talking, there won't even be a wait. We'll be settling... very soon."

Angela nodded slowly, only half-believing what she was saying. "At least... it will be over sooner, though."

Brennan nodded, taking another bite of her food to distract her.

"How much does Nick know?" Ange questioned softly.

She took a calming breath. "Enough. I... had to tell him about the divorce. He's confused, and he got angry at me when I tried to explain that he might not see his father as much anymore."

"It's not your fault," Angela tried to reassure her, but she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," she said dully. "It matters whose fault _he_ thinks it is. And right now, that's me."

"He's _four,_ sweetie. And he loves you so much... he's just trying to understand. And yes, it's going to be hard, but he'll adjust. And he won't stop loving you."

"And if James gets custody?" Brennan snapped, her anger flaring without her consent. She couldn't stop thinking that Angela couldn't possibly know, couldn't possibly understand. That she should stop trying, because she was never going to _have_ to understand, because her life wasn't going to turn out the way Brennan's had.

"That isn't going to happen."

"You can't _know_ that!" she argued back, dropping her fork so that it clattered into her dish. She glanced around, half-wanting to just escape the restaurant right then and there and be done with this whole conversation.

"No, I can't," Angela responded, her eyes blazing even though she was still clearly on Brennan's side. No matter her anger, it seemed she couldn't do wrong. And it was all because Angela felt bad for her, because Angela thought she understood why she was acting like this. "But I can be pretty sure that our legal system isn't flawed enough to give the wrong parent custody of a child, especially when the choice is between you, and... and _him!"_

"You don't know him," Brennan argued. She was shaking, she realized. From the anger, from the fear, from dozens of emotions she could barely classify. "You don't... you don't know what he can do."

Angela scoffed, and the sound sent fresh waves of frustration through her. She barely heard as her friend said, "I know enough to know that he doesn't deserve custody."

"I'm still going to have to see him. I'm still going to have to let Nick visit him, even if I do win! No matter what I do, he's going to be a part of my life, and I don't... I don't know if I can even..." she broke off, her teeth grinding together as she fought back tears.

"Everything is going to work out," Angela attempted, but Brennan waved her off angrily, still staring resolutely at a single spot on the table in front of her.

Angela just didn't get it. She was the one on the sidelines, trying to be the confident and reassuring friend that she had always been. Only, she didn't feel what Brennan was feeling. She didn't have these weights on her shoulders, and these fears chasing her through every hour of the day. The what-if's she was presented with were starting to make her sick, to the point where she could hardly think of them without wanting to wrap her arms around herself in a corner – and yet she couldn't _stop _thinking about them. They were in every moment, in every situation, always lurking in the corners of her mind. She couldn't even look at Nick without imagining what she would do if she lost him.

He was just about her only reason for living, now. If James took that away, in addition to everything else... she had no clue how she would survive. There was no possibility after that point that presented any sort of hope. None.

She glanced up at her friend, noting the soft lines of hurt across her forehead as she paid her attention only to the food on her plate. She was probably giving Brennan the chance to be the one to speak first, when she was ready.

It wasn't her fault, and Brennan knew it. Angela wasn't to blame for any of this – she was just as lost as the rest of them, and she was desperately trying to help.

Apologies, though, had never been her strong suit. So she opened with a statement, a piece of herself, the way that Ange had taught her to do so long ago. It was an offering, and she knew Angela would accept it.

"James told me..." she started cautiously, and Angela gaze snapped up to meet hers, "That he didn't love me anymore because I was cold. And he had the affair because he was seeking an emotional connection. Not because of the sex."

Angela was already shaking her head. The unspoken apology was accepted, and now she was back in her protective-mode. "It's _always_ about the sex with men, sweetie. And we both know he's a jackass – he's trying to hurt you. And I'm telling you right now, _don't let him_. Because he's wrong. I was there, I saw your marriage. And there was nothing _cold _in there that wasn't blowing off of _him_. Not _you."_

She smiled shakily. "Thanks, Ange."

"I told you, I've dated a lot of men; there are a lot of regrets that I have. And I learned a lot about just how _horrible _people can be... especially when you care about them." Her last words were gentle, and she reached across to touch Brennan's hand with her own, her eyes filled with nothing but pure sincerity. "Now what else did he say? Because I can _tell_ that there's something else that's really bothering you."

Brennan swallowed uncomfortably, but couldn't break their eye contact. "He... implied that there was something between Booth and I."

Angela's eyes, if it was possible, got wider. She could practically see the flames flaring up in them.

"You have no idea how badly I want to kill him right about now. _More_ than I did before," she said lowly. "He has _no_ right. No right _at all_. And the worst part is, I can still tell you aren't telling me something. So whatever it is... must be a lot worse."

She was waiting, and Brennan closed her eyes, steadying herself for a long moment and feeling the silence stretch tensely while she worked up the courage to tell Ange exactly what James had said to her.

"He suggested that... if anything did happen with Booth, it would be solely because Booth wants to have sex with me," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "And then he would..." she cleared her throat, "He would figure out that I—that I'm just not worth it."

Her voice cracked on the last part, and she bit into her lower lip, her eyes finally flitting away to find sanctuary on the far wall.

Angela said nothing in the following silence, and Brennan couldn't bring herself to look at the expression on her face. She didn't want to see the anger, or the pity, or anything else. She didn't want to know. She just wished that this was all over. She wished that none of this had ever happened to her.

"I'm sorry," Angela said. It wasn't the sympathetic apology she had thought it might be, though. It was an actual apology, as if Angela had some part in the wrong-doing.

She shook her head. "Not your fault," she whispered.

"Yes, it is," Angela insisted, her voice harsh, her anger clear. "I... I'm supposed to be your best friend. I'm supposed to be the one that _protects_ you. And I missed this... I missed it completely."

She couldn't help the short, humorless laugh that escaped. "If anyone's at fault for not seeing through him earlier, it's me. I married him, after all. I guess... I was just so _eager_, you know? So eager to believe that... it was all possible, that someone could really care about me _that_ much." She shook her head. "Too good to be true. That's what I always told myself, and then..." she closed her eyes again, running her hand up and over her face and staving off a few fresh tears. The last thing she needed to do was have a breakdown right here, in the restaurant.

"I wish I could have protected you," Angela murmured seriously. "I just... I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Well... no, I take that back. I would wish this sort of pain on James tenfold. And if I could make it happen, I would beat it into him myself."

They both fell silent again, but it wasn't the uncomfortable silence they had struggled through earlier. It was a calmer silence, of understanding between the two of them. And Brennan felt better for it.

"Promise me you'll talk, if there's anything else that's bothering you?" Angela asked carefully.

"I... yes," she answered, only hesitating for a brief moment. "I will." She nodded, more to herself than to Angela. It was time to accept that there was help available, even if she didn't always want to access it. She had wanted someone to be on her side, and she had known Angela would be.

Somehow, though, knowing that Angela knew it all and was all the more furiously behind her, backing her up through it all...

It made the weight just a little easier to bear.

**You know what to do; just press that button and let me know what you thought ;)**


	17. Get Around This

**A/N: Welcome back to another Tuesday! This one is titled for the newest SafetySuit song, Get Around This. It's very good; I suggest checking it out. **

_Chapter 16: Get Around This_

_You and I,  
We had it all.  
I wonder why,  
I let it fall.  
I don't know why,  
I make this hard for you._

_And if I go,_  
_And get it back,_  
_Apologize,_  
_For all I lack!_  
_Would you be there, to take this heart?_  
_Would you do anything at all?_

_Take me back to yesterday,_  
_I swear it on your life,_  
_I'll stay on the short side,_  
_I'll stay on the short side._

_Take me back to yesterday,_  
_If you can forgive me,_  
_I will, stay by you only,_  
_Though if, you can forget,_

_Then we can get around this_

_June 8__th__, 2018_

Booth set his pen down, rubbing his jaw and sighing as he glanced up at the doorway to his office. As if he was actually expecting anyone to be standing there. No, there was no one seeking him out. Because he was on his own, for now, in the middle of this mess. Angela had her hands full, trying to get Brennan to open up to just her. She shouldn't have to worry about getting Brennan to talk to him as well. Not for a while, at least.

He could live with that. He was trying to, at least.

_You survived without her for a year, barely noticing her existence,_ a snippy voice in the back of his mind reminded him, and he closed his eyes.

_And I wish I could forget that_, he thought back, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling. No guidance there, unfortunately.

The give and take here was starting to wear away at him. Should he be calling, or waiting to be called? Should he be pushing, or waiting for a sign? Did she want him to try, or did she want him far, far away from her? He desperately wished there was a way he could read her mind.

At least the case was closed; it was one less thing to be concerned with. Although it had left him standing on a precipice, unsure of where to go next. She was quitting the Jeffersonian, leaving behind their partnership, and he couldn't fight it. Never would he have thought he would say it... but she was doing the right thing, for herself, for her son... for everyone involved. She knew what she was doing, and she was doing it for all the right reasons. There wasn't even a way he _could_ fight it.

So what did that mean for him, and his future? Glancing down, he slid open a draw on his desk just enough so he could see the edge of the letter. He could take the job offer. He could move on, just like she was doing. It would certainly be the healthier of his options, rather than sticking around and trying to pretend there wasn't a gaping hole. And like Brennan had told him time and time again. The team was strong. If they could survive without her, they could certainly survive without him. At least, that was the justification he was planning to use for the choice. If he went through with it.

She had once told him that if they didn't work together, they could get coffee. And that would be their thing. They would get coffee together. At the time, he had disliked the idea. The limits that it called for. But now... if there was any opportunity for that to come true, he would gladly accept it versus the alternative – never seeing her again.

He was eternally grateful to his son, who was likely to play a role in that. Parker had told him about his visit with her, and although he hadn't gone into great detail – which Booth respected and understood despite his curiosity – he got the idea that Parker still cared a lot about her, and vice versa. In addition, it was one of those moments where he just looked at his son, and realized that he had done a good job as a parent. He couldn't have been prouder.

And then, much to his surprise and relief, Parker had explained about his troubles with Clara as well. It was strange, almost, to see his son struggling with issues so similar to his own. He had gotten used to Parker being too young to deal with these things, that it had never really struck him just how much his son was growing up. And now here he was, trying to figure out what to do with a relationship that he didn't want to lose.

A part of him had wanted to tell his son not to let her go. To fight for her, no matter what it took, and convince her to stay. But logic had cut in and told him that he could not live vicariously through his son in an attempt to fix his own past. Clara was not Brennan. And even if she was, it didn't take a genius to see that it wouldn't be possible to force her to stick around. If anything, it would damage the relationship to a point it might not even recover from.

So he had told Parker something he found more important than any of that. He should let her go, but only in the sense of her going away for the summer. Because if he truly loved her, then all he would need to do was stay faithful to their relationship. And when she came back... well, things would all work out.

Just like things would have worked out, had he not come back from Afghanistan with a new girlfriend. Had he not decided that she wasn't good enough just because she was scared. He wished he could explain to her how much he had changed. How much Hannah had woken him up to the fact that he was impatient when it came to love, when all along he claimed the opposite. He was a hypocrite, and a bad one.

A person could not claim to believe in the deeper truths of love, in the concept of knowing at first sight... and then immediately change their mind just because they got a bruised ego.

If he was any sort of writer, he'd have put that in words years ago, and left the letter on her desk. But he wasn't a writer, and he wasn't nearly as much of a gambler as he had led her to believe. He was a coward, when it came down to it. And the easiest, safest route seemed to be the one he took most often in life.

Something else he had worked to change, all these years.

Whether it had been in hopes of finding someone new to build a better life with – avoiding all the flaws he had used to destroy his former dreams – or whether he had been waiting on Brennan all this time without realizing it... he _had_ changed.

He was ready to be patient and understanding. If only it were that easy, though, because even the waiting _to get to the point_ where he needed to be patient... was such a challenge.

A knock on his door jogged him out of his thoughts, and he glanced up, eyes wide.

He slumped back in his chair, though, as he recognized the familiar face staring in at him. He beckoned for his fellow agent to enter, and Charlie stepped in, a smirk on his face as he took in the stack of paperwork Booth had piled in front of him.

"Hey, Booth. Busy, aren't we?"

"Yeah, I'm having loads of fun. You need me for something?"

His stomach sank as he took in the possibility of a new case. He didn't want to deal with that, now. It would be like pouring salt on the wounds – being sent out without Brennan so soon after she had informed him they were through. He wasn't even sure if his bosses were aware of the events. She might not have sent her paperwork in, yet.

"As I remember, you promised to take a look at my case file." He held up the manila folder with a raised eyebrow.

Booth shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "I'll give it a glance."

Charlie nodded, his furrowed brow telling Booth that he wasn't fooling anyone with the façade.

"How's your partner?" Charlie asked casually, watching Booth closely for a reaction as he placed the file in front of him, to the side of the paperwork pile.

"Fine, as far as I know," he said generally, meeting Charlie's gaze with a challenge in his own.

The other man just nodded thoughtfully.

"Alright, you give that a once-over and let me know what you think. Do me a favor and don't tell Cooper you're helping out."

"That I can do," he promised, a small smirk pulling up one corner of his lip.

"See you around, Booth," Charlie said. _Come talk if you need me_, his stare said as he let the door shut behind him and finally turned to walk through the bullpen.

Shaking his head to himself, Booth took one more look at the paperwork for the Singer case and dropped his pen, pushing aside the entire stack. He really hated this bureaucratic shit, more than he ever had before. The offer in his desk drawer looked more and more promising, and he shut it firmly, setting his jaw and focusing his attention on the file.

He wasn't making his mind up about anything, he reminded himself. Not yet. There was still plenty of time to accept the offer; and really, they could bring him in any time. It wasn't like it was a position that was going to fill quickly if he didn't get his response in right away.

Charlie hadn't been kidding when he had said there wasn't much on this one. All the details in the file seemed to focus on the rather gruesome crime scene, rather than on witness statements or possible suspects. There wasn't even any physical evidence that could provide a link. No extra hairs, no fingerprints, no extraneous DNA, _nothing_. It was no wonder the other agent was having trouble.

He sighed again and shut the pages, pushing them aside as well and leaving the space in front of him miraculously clear. What would it feel like, to not have this anymore? No more desk, no more paperwork, no more suit and tie, no more signatures, no more horrifying case files? Would it be a relief, or would he be bored?

But really, how could he get any more bored than he would be after he familiarized himself to the monotony of cases without Brennan or her team?

Hell, he was already far too familiar with it. The past five months had been like the same reel of paint drying played on repeat.

His fingers played with the edge of the top sheet in the pile of paperwork, the one he had been working on. It, like several of the others, needed signatures from Brennan or one of the other squints. His eyes strayed up again, to his office door.

They weren't coming to him anytime soon. They had no reason to. So he was going to have to go to them, no matter what that might mean.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Cam's heels clicked as she stepped around her desk to get a pen. She signed with her typical neat flourish, and turned to him with an expectantly raised eyebrow as she held out the paper.

"So, what are you really doing here?" she questioned after he had accepted it back and tucked it back among the others. "Because we both know that I could have just as easily signed that electronically."

She didn't need to ask, because she already knew, but he gave her the answer anyways.

"How's Brennan?"

"In Limbo," she answered. It was a double answer, and he nodded slowly, understanding what she meant. "She went to lunch with Angela, though. And she looked... better, when they got back. Angela seemed happy, too, so that's a good sign. I haven't talked to either of them, though, so I don't have details to give you."

"That's alright. Just... has she said anything about..." he trailed off, unsure if he should mention what Brennan had told him. Maybe she hadn't gone forward with any of it, and if that was the case, he didn't want to bring it up.

But Cam got the gist of his question, and she nodded towards an envelope on her desk. Leaning over, he read Brennan's spindly handwriting, perfect as always, spelling out Cam's name. He knew what it was, without having to look, without having to ask. He swallowed harshly and took in a shaky breath.

So she had done it, after all.

"Has she, uh... notified the FBI?" he asked carefully.

"She asked me to, in the letter," Cam said replied calmly. "And I called them earlier this week. I'm actually surprised... that you didn't know."

"Yeah, well, seems like I'm always the last to find out things, in general."

"Tanner might have assumed that you were already aware, and didn't want to drag it up. You're a valuable agent, Seeley," she said, her voice turning serious, "He'll want to preserve that. I expect he'll be coming around in the next few days. There will be... paperwork, of course, and they might want to... discuss other matters."

Paperwork, to sign away his partnership permanently. Other matters, to discuss new partners.

Cam had kinder ways of putting the harsh details, but he saw through them as she had probably expected he would. She winced and looked away as his eyes hardened with the reality of it. That job offer... well, it was looking better and better.

"So, she's been working, though?" he managed to ask, after a lengthy pause.

"Yes," Cam answered immediately, "I think she... you know, wants to close up a few things. There are a lot of cases down there that she never got a chance to look into. A lot of people that probably remind her of her mother, that she doesn't want to leave behind so abruptly. She's been avoiding us, though, as well. Angela... asked us not to interfere. Give her a little time. But she must have gotten tired of that, and it seems to have worked. Of course, she went straight back to Limbo afterwards, so I can't be sure."

"When's her last day?" he asked, barely aware of the question before it was out of his mouth. He needed to know, and suddenly it was more important than the rest of what Cam was saying.

"The tenth," Cam answered, her concern evident as she watched for his reaction. But he just nodded, more to himself than to her, and turned to look out across the lab, at her darkened office. Knowing what to look for made it so much more obvious that the room was nearly empty. The darkness was black and cold, not shadowed with artifacts and furniture as it had once been. The curtains were gone, as well, and there was no glow from her monitor to indicate a screensaver. She probably hadn't even turned it on today.

Seeing it so empty was like a dose of reality, and he felt a cold rush shoot through his limbs and tremble in his fingers. A dull ache burned in his chest. It was one thing, to hear her say she was leaving. It was another to see the entirety of the plan in action. To face the fact that it was actually _happening_.

He suddenly wondered – and it was a panicked feeling, almost – if she still had any of the things he had given her over the years. The Christmas and birthday presents, mostly tiny things, had been displayed on her desk. Some of them had gone home with her. And there was Brainy Smurf, and Jasper, and a skeleton bobble-head he had left there for her this past Halloween.

It wasn't something he should be worrying about. It was trivial and foolish, in comparison to all the changes swirling around him in that moment... but he couldn't shake it. Because it felt like Brennan was moving away from more than just this place. It felt like she was moving away from him, from all of them, and he was losing the lifeline he had always had. The anchors, the connections between the two of them, how easily would they, too, be washed away? Did she even still have them, or had they been lost or sold or tossed in the garbage years ago, without his knowledge?

No amount of logic could change the way his heart constricted at the idea, and all the emotions of the days he had offered the tokens to her were suddenly bubbling inside of him, all joined together as one, and he could hardly breathe.

"Are you okay?" Cam asked suddenly, touching his arm. He jumped away in surprise, turning to her and dragging himself back to the present, with difficulty. He took a careful breath, testing the air and the gravity that kept him steady on the ground.

"I—Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." His gaze focused on Brennan's office, he stepped away from his old friend and left her behind, his steps firm and decided as he made his way to the platform and across.

There was something he disliked, about the concept of going down to Limbo to find her. He didn't want to talk there, in a place so isolated that it felt like their conversation would lose it's reality after they re-emerged. No, he wasn't going to go find her. He was going to her office, no matter how empty, no matter how cold, no matter how much it really wasn't _hers_ anymore. It was where he needed to be, right now, and it was where he was going to wait for her.

If Cam wanted to stop him, she didn't try. Hodgins gave him a pitying glance from the platform, which he ignored, and then he was opening her door with his key and taking in the space as if this was his first time there. And it felt like it was.

Her bookcases were empty, her plant was gone, her desk was cleared off.

He settled into the swivel chair and flipped on the lamp. In the light, the shadows fell tall on the bare walls, and he sighed.

_"Nice place," he commented, leaning in the doorframe and surveying the room. She scowled from behind her desk, but he ignored her, stepping in to pick up some sort of wooden totem from one of the nearest shelves._

_ "I thought I told you I was never working with you again? And put that down."_

_ He gave it a little toss, running his fingers over the carved face. "What is this thing, anyways?"_

_ "A gift from a tribe in Indonesia. Now put it back, and get out of my office."_

_ "It's kind of creepy, isn't it?"_

_ "It's meant as a warning; a protective charm. According to the tribe's belief system, anyone who damages it will suffer grave consequences."_

_ He gently set it back on the shelf, but made no move to leave the office._

_ She sighed, her impatience surprisingly endearing. He had to admit, she was intriguing in the best of ways. Like a puzzle he couldn't solve. Sure, she had told him to get a brain and basically called him a dumb oaf, but he wasn't holding a grudge. _

_ "What do you want?" she said at last, crossing her arms._

_ He shrugged, still looking around. There was a rather impressive painting on her wall, which reminded him of the stuff he had seen in Angela's office on his very first visit. _

_ "Who let you in?" she tried this time, her hand twitching towards the phone._

_ "No need to call in the cavalry," he said with a grin, raising his hands in surrender. "Angela had the guards let me through."_

_ Her scowl deepened. "Why would she do that?"_

_ "I don't know. I think she has a thing for me... which only creeps me out slightly. Although, she practically shoved me towards your office when I asked where it was. So maybe it's something else." He grinned, but she was giving him a blank stare, not catching the implication. He should have guessed that she wouldn't understand, but he found himself enjoying the surprise that came every time she was at a loss. That big brain was very one-sided, he was discovering._

_ "Why are you here?" she repeated, as if she thought he hadn't understood the first time. _

_ "Got a file for you to look at," he said simply, tossing it down in front of her and scattering the other pages she had been looking over. She gave him a withering look and gathered them back together, straightening the edges against each other neatly. Only when that was sorted out did she flip open the file._

_ "These are x-rays," she said, looking up at him and frowning._

_ "Ah, so that's what they are. I was so confused."_

_ She frowned, and then her expression cleared before she sighed irritably. "That's sarcasm. You're using sarcasm."_

_ He raised an eyebrow, and she seethed for a moment before turning her gaze back down to the file, her interest peeked enough that now she had to give the case at least a once-over._

_ "Blunt force trauma to the frontal lobe," she said with a shrug, closing the file again. "Looks like an ice pick, and the trajectory suggest that the killer was significantly taller than the victim. Of course, if I could see the bones, I could make more definitive conclusions."_

_ "Are you serious?" he said, taking the file back and flipping it open for himself._

_ "More sarcasm?"_

_ "No," he muttered, squinting at the x-rays._

_ She moved out from behind her desk and plucked the top one out of his hand, holding it up to the light and leaning closer as she pointed out the injury._

_ "Did you even look at the other ones?" he demanded, shuffling through them._

_ "Yes," she said with a shrug. "The victim suffered severe injuries, but that one," again, she pointed out the spot on the skull, "Is the cause of death."_

_ "Bones, this guy was stabbed twenty-one times. And that is a little hole in the skull. The coroner said that it was probably post-mortem."_

_ "Then you have an incompetent coroner and you should fire him."_

_ Booth made a sound in the back of his throat. "He's been working for us for fifty years."_

_ "Then might I suggest that you have a professional go over all of his case files to ensure that he has not made any other foolish mistakes? Although given the amount of time that he has spent in the field, chances are he reached his peak at least a decade ago and that is what is contributing to his obvious failure as a medical examiner."_

_ He stared at her incredulously for a long moment. "There was a stab-wound straight to the heart."_

_ "And if you believed that was truly cause of death, you wouldn't be here right now, would you?"_

_ "That—that's beside the point!"_

_ "Ice pick, tall killer, frontal lobe," she listed firmly, and gave him a push towards her door. "I have work to do."_

"Booth?" he glanced up and found her standing in the doorway, a confused frown furrowing her brow.

"Hey," he said, offering a lopsided smile. "You've been busy." He gestured to the empty office around them as she stepped cautiously inside and let the door slowly shut behind her.

"I, uh... yeah," she said, still frowning. She let her gaze fall away, pursing her lips and focusing on the wall to her right.

"I haven't seen you in a while."

She nodded. "Yes, I know." A flash of regret appeared across her face, but then it was gone. When he didn't say anything, she finally turned her eyes towards the ceiling and took in a steadying breath before saying, "I've... had a lot going on. And... I've been trying to handle things. On my own."

He stared at her steadily and offered a slow nod.

This was where he could offer to help her, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the intuition that told him she was about to say something else; something important.

She didn't disappoint.

"I'm getting a divorce," she said abruptly.

He couldn't say he was surprised, but the wave of hurt he felt washing from her was enough to propel him to his feet. He stepped around her desk and moved to stand in front of her.

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully, rather than saying sorry as she had probably been expecting. She probably had enough people sorry for her already, and he still knew her well enough to know that she would hate it just as much as he would, if it were him in her shoes.

She blinked a couple of times. "I'm fine. I... I _will_ be fine."

He nodded, frowning. "Did you... file for it, or..?"

"James did," she admitted. "He's... already got everything in motion."

"Well that's... that's a good thing, right?"

"Everyone seems to think so," she said with a sigh, wrapping her arms more securely around herself.

"And what about you?"

"I..." she shook her head, stepping away and around her desk, escaping. "I'm not sure," she said softly as she settled into her chair, angling it purposefully so that it faced her computer rather than him. She shook the mouse impatiently, biting her lip as she stared at the dark screen.

"It's okay to not want it, Bones," he said, his voice a different level of gentle that he hadn't even been trying for.

Her eyes flew up to meet his, shock radiating from her, and he realized his mistake. The first time, in the elevator, he had meant it. Using her nickname had been the only thing he could think of to do for her, to help her stay grounded. Clearly it had released something in both of them, because he hadn't felt the inclination to use it in years. Sure, he wanted to. But he hadn't accidentally went to call her by it for... a very long time.

They both stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

"What..." she started slowly, and then shook her head, "What are you doing in my office?" she asked. He knew that wasn't the first question that had come to her mind, but he went with it, pretending not to notice.

"I wanted to see you," he said. "And I don't know... I was just thinking about the first time I was ever here."

She stared at him, her mouth open slightly, and then she ran her tongue over her lips and flicked her gaze away.

"This place won't be the same without you," he said softly, leaning forward across her desk. "No matter what you think, no matter if you're leaving for good reasons... _this place_ won't be the same. That... _that_ I can promise you."

She nodded shakily, looking like she wanted to say something, but changed her mind.

"Harper will... will still be here. To work with the FBI," she offered hesitantly, at last.

"I don't know if I'll still be working here," he answered honestly, reading the hidden question in her words with ease.

"Oh," she said softly.

Her couch was gone, so he stayed in his position leaned against her desk, staring down at her and watching the emotions playing over her features.

He could tell that she wanted him to leave, but at the same time... it felt like she was glad of his presence. Almost like she herself couldn't decide what it was she wanted. But so far she hadn't tried to send him away, and he took that as a good sign. As good of a sign as he could get, really.

"Is there... some other reason you're here?" she asked tentatively after a moment.

"Oh, right. He pulled out the paperwork from his suit coat and set it down. "I just, uh... needed a few signatures."

She nodded, and bent over the papers, reading through briefly before scribbling her signature in at the bottom of them, one after the other.

He hated the awkwardness in their conversations. He could barely remember the ease with which they used to converse, but he knew that he missed it more than anything. What did they used to talk about, in those long hours? How had they managed to fill so much time with their voices, enjoying every minute of it and never once feeling uncomfortable or bored? The silences used to be content and warm, filled with friendship and familiarity.

It had been years since he had felt like that.

She handed the papers back to him, and then watched, as if she were waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe even waiting for him to turn and leave. But he stayed right where he was, and she shifted in her seat, as unsure of him as he was of her.

"Booth?" she said hesitantly, and waited until he was looking at her fully. "Do you think that I'm making the right decision?"

The vulnerability in her voice brought him back to so many conversations before, and he couldn't have lied to her, even if he had wanted to.

"If you had asked me for advice, Brennan, I'd have told you to do exactly what you're doing now. Follow your heart."

She closed her eyes. "That's what got me into this, to begin with," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

His chest constricted, and he looked away. He wished he could take all her problems away, but he knew that was impossible. These were things she had to fight on her own, no matter how much he wanted to jump in the ring and stand in between.

"So, uh... what are your plans? After you're done with the lab?" he asked, breaking the fresh silence.

"I'm going to spend a lot more time with my son, probably start writing full-time."

"Well, your publisher will be pleased."

That earned a laugh. "Yes, I'm sure she will be thrilled."

He rolled his tongue over his teeth. "How would you like... to go get some coffee with me?"

Her eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth and shut it again before she found the words to respond. "Now?" she asked at last.

"Whenever," he said with a shrug. "Just... you know. Coffee. The two of us."

Recognition was burning in her gaze, and she nodded slowly. He wasn't the only one who remembered that conversation. "I would... like that. Very much."

A wave of relief washed through him, and he couldn't fight the grin that spread across his face. This was better progress than he could have hoped for. And it meant that she wasn't running from him. Not right now, at least. Whatever Angela had done earlier today, he was grateful. Clearly something had gotten through to her, and let her open up just a little.

Suddenly, he knew that he couldn't leave. He just knew he couldn't. As long as there was any sort of chance, any sort of possibility that he might find a way back into her life... he wasn't going to give up. Not the way he had done, all that time ago. No, he was in for the long-haul. No matter how long it took, or how much it hurt him.

He was staying.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She had no idea why she was agreeing with him, but what she did know was that she wished she could give up this feeling without feeling the pain that she knew would come with its absence. For both of them, it would be better if she was out of his life. And yet, she couldn't do it. Maybe she could have, earlier, when she was so sure of herself.

But now she was doubting everything, wondering if she really knew what was best.

Deep down, all she wanted was to be around Booth for as long as possible. No matter in what capacity it was.

That need, the strength of those emotions, overran any logic.

Which was what she had been afraid of.

Coffee wasn't going to hurt her, though, or him. It would just be coffee; something to tie them to each other slightly after all this was over. And maybe... this was what he needed. To make him realize that he could be without her. And gradually, he might even start to want it less and less, because he would know that he was happier without her.

So she would let it happen. And she would even enjoy the time; enjoy being with him. But she wouldn't hope for anything more from it. Those hopes had died long ago, and they were going to stay that way.

"If you need someone to come to the hearings with you..." Booth was offering hesitantly, and suddenly everything else washed away except the fear.

"No," she said at once, rapidly shaking her head. "I mean... Angela already offered, and... I'm fine. I'm fine with everything."

He was giving her a worried look, and she turned away quickly.

"Okay," he said softly.

She bit her lip, still not looking up at him.

"How about coffee tomorrow? I'll pick you up here at nine?"

Right now, if she turned him down, that would be it. That would be the end of everything. It was his last offer, before he took her refusals as closing doors to block him out, and she knew it.

It would be so easy, too. All she had to do was say no, and that was it. Maybe she wouldn't even see him again.

At the thought, though, something welled up inside of her, and she found herself biting back the tightening in her throat.

"That sounds good," she managed, finally meeting his gaze.

He smiled softly, and turned to leave.

The door was opening, though, and a little bundle of arms and legs ran inside. "Mom!"

"Nick?" she said, her tone filled with pure alarm. "What—?"

"I'm so sorry," Julie said, hurrying in after him. She was holding her cell phone. "My mother had some sort of accident; I couldn't reach you, so I brought him over here. I—I hope that's okay."

"Of course. Go," Brennan said at once. "I've got him. Go to your mother."

Julie nodded gratefully and rushed back out of the office, leaving the three of them alone.

Brennan stood and pulled her son against her side, forcing a smile for his benefit. "Nick, you remember Booth, right?"

Nick stared up at Booth with wide eyes, and nodded, his mouth open. He didn't actually remember, but she didn't bother informing Booth of that detail.

"He's Parker's father," she said instead, and this garnered a bit more recognition from the boy.

"Is Parker here, too?" he asked, an eagerness in his voice that made her smile—and when she looked at Booth, she saw that it had evoked the same warm reaction from him.

"No, bud, he's got school," Booth said, before she could answer. "But he talked all about you, the other day. Says you're quite the soccer player."

Nick beamed. "Really?"

"Really. If it's alright with your mom, I'm sure he'd love a rematch sometime."

"Mom!" Nick said, spinning and tugging on her pant leg as if she wasn't standing right there to hear everything Booth had just said.

"That sounds like a great idea," Brennan told him, before he could even ask.

Of course, now she was going to get pestered with _"When? When?"_ for the next whole week, but she could live with it. Clearly Nick and Parker had bonded well, and she was glad of the fact.

"Can we get milkshakes?" Nick was saying, already moving on to his next demand.

"What did you have for lunch?"

"Veggie burgers," he answered, crinkling up his nose in distaste.

"Alright, milkshakes sound like a plan, then," she said.

"Can Dad come?"

She opened her mouth, her eyes turning without her permission to helplessly seek out Booth's. "We... we talked about that, Nick," she said softly, crouching down to his height. "Do you remember?"

Booth shifted uncomfortably, but didn't move for the door.

Nick pouted. "But _why?"_

"Nicholas," she murmured, "Dad and I aren't together anymore. We both... we both love you. Very much. But we'll be spending time with you separately from now on. It'll be like... having each of us to yourself. All the time."

The boy screwed up his face, unsure of the explanation. "Dad loves milkshakes," he muttered, staring down at his shoes.

"A lot of people like milkshakes. Like me, and Julie. And you'll get to have milkshakes with your Dad again. I promise. But today... today is just you and me."

"Just us?"

"Yes, just us. Come on."

She pushed herself back to her feet, giving Booth a look and waiting to see if he would comment. But he didn't; he just looked at her, and there was a sad sort of warmth in his dark eyes that melted into her. She ground her teeth with indecision, stepping past him, and then spun on her heel and placed a hand on his arm.

"I'll be waiting. Tomorrow."

He smiled. "And I'll be here."

Nodding, she dropped her head and allowed herself a quick smile, unsure of how she felt, but knowing that it was better than how she felt yesterday. Giving him one last look, she raised her hand in farewell and hurried to catch up with her son.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth stood in her office, staring after the two of them as she reached down to take the boy's hand in her own. And then she leaned down, and he watched her say something that he couldn't make out to the child.

Nick turned, his big eyes meeting Booth's, and he raised his free hand to wave.

An unbidden smile spreading painfully across his face, Booth raised his hand to wave back, a prickle in the corner of his eye.

No, he wasn't going anywhere. He was staying right here.

**Alright, was that a bit more uplifting? Some hope on the horizon? Beyond this story, I've got big hopes for the finale this week; I'm going to need something nice to close off a depressing season, though. Especially with the Castle episode I just saw last night that left me more stunned than I can even express, and my fears for tonight's NCIS. Why has someone died on all of my shows this year?  
**


	18. The End

**A/N: Alright, this chapter is going to change things a bit. I assure you, it's all necessary and I have everything planned in full. Please take note that we do some jumping through time here, as the chapter goes on. Song for this one is The End by Pearl Jam. It's a beautiful song, and it was featured in one of the most powerful scenes on my other show, Castle. Please check it out, and see what I mean.**

**I don't own them, still. But I'm rather happy with HH and the writers at this point in time... so I'm not actually too sad about that fact this time around. In fact, I screamed and completely freaked out at that ending. For anyone interested, I'll be posting a story called 'Always All For You' on Thursday, which will cover the before, during, and after of the finale. **

_Chapter 17: The End_

_What were all those dreams we shared  
Those many years ago?  
What were all those plans we made now  
Left beside the road?  
Behind us in the road_

_More than friends, I always pledged  
Cause friends they come and go  
People change, as does everything  
I wanted to grow old  
I just want to grow old_

_Slide up next to me_  
_I'm just a human being_  
_I will take the blame_  
_But just the same_  
_This is not me_

_June 14__th__, 2018_

The bell over the door jingled merrily, and Booth glanced up.

This wasn't his usual fare; a small coffee shop across from the courthouse. He'd been here a maximum of two times in the past, and he wasn't much of a fan. The coffee wasn't great, and the atmosphere seemed dull and tight. All the other customers were obvious regulars, creating an isolating effect even when the waitresses insisted on paying him extra attention in their attempt to convert him so he'd become a full-time patron.

The young blonde who had been fluttering by his table for the past half an hour returned, beaming hugely at him as her curls bounced. "More coffee, sir?" She was probably mid-twenties, but he wasn't so out of it that he couldn't see she was dying to slip him her number. Instead of the flattery he would have once felt—along with a likely ego boost—he only felt mild irritation. Why the hell had he ever liked blondes, anyways? It might make him some typical caveman with a 'type,' but he had stopped looking at women with that sort of interest years ago, unless they bore a strange resemblance to a certain scientist.

And even then, that only made him somber, and he couldn't hold a proper conversation.

"I'm good," he said, staring out the window rather than looking at her. She hesitated, and then flounced away again, swaying her hips. He rolled his eyes, not looking up when the bell over the door rang again.

His coffee had long gone cold, but he wasn't in the mood for more. The cup in front of him was more of an excuse than anything else.

Brennan's first settlement hearing was today. The judge would be reviewing their case, and going over the demands both of their lawyers had come up with. Knowing she didn't stand much of a chance on her own, Brennan had gone all out on her own representation. Going off of Hodgins' advice, she had hired a woman named Jeanne Dellinger, who was apparently a well-known lawyer in certain circles, with a reputation for success representing female clients.

Booth had been relieved when she had accepted the help, although he hadn't been there personally. He had been filled in on the details by Angela, later. In fact, he hadn't seen much of Brennan since they had gotten coffee together last Friday. He had no clue if it was because she was avoiding him, or simply because that was how it had played out. When they had gotten coffee... things had been more normal than they had been in years. The camaraderie had returned, and the silences were less awkward. He'd even had hope that they might be able to make it a regular thing, but she had turned him down on it, saying that she had too much going on.

And he had believed her; what with the hearings and the divorce proceedings... she shouldn't need to be sorting out her emotions about spending time with him in addition to her feelings that came with that whole ordeal.

That, and it probably wouldn't look too good, while she was in the middle of a separation. Even if they were just friends, those lawyers would make it out to be something else entirely. To be quite honest, he wouldn't be surprised if they were already twisting things in that direction.

He still wished he could be there for her, though, even if it was irrational on all fronts. Which was partially why he was here right now. He hated spying on her, or doing things behind her back... but he needed to know that she was alright. And seeing her as she was leaving the courthouse would help him decide if he should intercede by dropping in on her later today for some company.

She should be getting out any time now.

Something, _something_, had always struck him as being... off, when it came to James. But with all of this coming at them, he realized now that he had only seen a small fraction of the full spectrum. From Angela, he knew enough to know that Brennan hadn't told him all of it. And to be honest, no matter how curious and worried he was... a part of him really didn't _want_ to know everything. What he was already aware of was bad enough as it was.

He glanced up in surprise as someone slid into the seat opposite of him.

"Ange," he said with a sigh, turning to look back out the window. "I didn't... expect to see you."

"Yeah, well, you can't hide from me, G-man," she answered gently. "That, and I scoped out this place last week."

He nodded understandingly. "She told me you offered to go with her."

"Yeah, and she turned me down. Which wasn't much of a surprise, really. But... I couldn't just let her go on her own. So I figured that at least if I came in spirit... maybe it would make things a little better. Even if she doesn't know."

"I had the same thought," he murmured, shaking his head and turning to look out across at the courthouse again.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Angela asked softly into the silence that hung between them.

"She'll beat this," he assured with a conviction he didn't possess. "She has to," he added softly.

"And if she doesn't?" Ange pressed. "Booth... I honestly don't know if she could survive."

"I know," he murmured, dropping his head and staring emptily into his coffee.

She sighed.

"She's scared," the artist whispered at last, and his eyes flitted up to meet hers.

"Did she... tell you that?"

"In a way," Angela answered evasively. "But... she really is, Booth. And... I'm scared, too. Nick is _everything_ to her. He's all she's got left."

"I know. God, I know..."

"I just... I feel so helpless. Like there's nothing I can do for her, now. It's all out of our hands."

Booth nodded silently. He couldn't agree more.

"What's going on with the two of you?" she asked suddenly, when he said nothing else. "I mean... I know she went to get some coffee with you, and I was happy for her... but then when I asked yesterday, she said she didn't want to talk about it. So tell me, did something else happen, or is she just being... Brennan?"

"Option number two," he said, raking a hand down his face tiredly.

Angela nodded sympathetically. "Right. Well... she's going through something right now. That's probably why. I mean, she was _really_ glad to get coffee with you. I know she was, even if she didn't want to admit it—to me or to herself."

"I don't want to push her," Booth agreed with a nod. "She's got... she's got enough on her plate. And I know I'm not the easiest subject for her, so it makes sense. For her to avoid me, I mean."

"It still hurts, though," Angela guessed, and he sighed.

"Yeah. Not much I can do about that, though, huh?"

"No," she murmured back, and then it was her turn to stare out the window. He followed her gaze, and watched a few men in suits walking up the stairs. A couple sat hunched together at the top, each holding a coffee. As he watched, the man reached over and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. He couldn't pull his gaze away, until he finally just closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Angela said, and it was more his surprise than anything else that propelled him to look at her again.

"For what?"

She gave him a somber look, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "For not trying harder. I was... I still _am_... Brennan's best friend. And I always looked out for her best interests. If I had known then, what I know now... I wouldn't have made the same mistake."

"What mistake?" he asked, still confused.

"I should have tried harder," she said, leaning forward with a desperation in her eyes, like she needed him to understand, like she wanted some sort of blame. "I knew, for _years_, that there was something good there, with the two of you. I knew that... it was what she _needed_. And god, after you _died_, I saw it all... and then I let myself just forget about it. Because I'm her friend, and she was hurt, and you were the only person I could think to blame for it. And so I—Booth, I helped her with James. I _helped_ her. And she ended up with him, and look—just _look_ at what it _did_ to her!"

"But you couldn't have known that—"

"That's not the point!" she exclaimed. He could practically feel the guilt shooting off of her in waves. "The point... is that I shouldn't have just been her friend. I should have been yours, too. And then... none of this would have happened."

He let himself wonder, for the briefest of moments, about the different world he might be living in if Angela had been on his side the entire time. If she had kept pushing Brennan at him, rather than towards James.

And then he let it go, and he shook his head.

"I don't think I've ever told you this," he said seriously. "But... I've never wanted you in my corner."

Her brows drew together. "...What?"

"Brennan..." he sighed and glanced away. "Brennan's never had anyone, Ange. Her whole life... she's been looking after herself. And god only knows just what she's been through because of that, but the thing is... when I first met her, you know that I was intrigued. She was so many things I'd never seen before, and I wanted to see more. And then there you were... and you had her back. I could see something between you two, a trust that she didn't have with _anyone_ else. That was when she barely knew you, too, not just later on when I started working with all of you full-time. And _that_... that has meant a lot to me, and to her, too. Knowing that someone's looking out for her, besides me; someone who's never going to turn away, for any reason."

She blinked a couple of times, and he saw liquid sparkles caught in her long eyelashes.

"Thank you," she mouthed at him, the words themselves so soft that he couldn't even hear them. He just nodded in response; he had meant every word he had said. And he was glad that she understood.

They both looked up together, as if they knew, and he heard her sharp intake of breath match his as they both caught sight of Brennan at the same moment. She took the stairs down swiftly, cutting across at an angle as the gaggle of reporters noticed her and started to close in.

"I hate them," Angela said venomously, her teeth clenching together. "Vultures, all of them..."

"I know," he agreed softly, shifting in his seat. He wanted desperately to get up and go to her, and Angela must have sensed it, because she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of his. Her gaze reminded him that Brennan wouldn't appreciate his interference, no matter how good his intentions were.

He sighed and settled for clenching his hands into fists on the edge of the table.

The waitress came around again, looking less cheerful, and sniffed a little as she offered to get Angela a coffee. The artist agreed distractedly, still staring out the window, and the waitress left with a short huff.

In silence, they watched Brennan shove her way through the cameras and the microphones, swiftly climbing into a waiting cab. He followed it with his eyes until it vanished from view, and then turned his attention back to the courthouse, where the reporters had regrouped around their newest target, who was willingly speaking in the middle of their circle.

"If ever anyone deserved to be struck down by lightning on a cloud-free day..." Angela muttered.

Booth nodded his agreement stiffly, almost glad that he couldn't make out whatever it was that James and his lawyers were spouting. It would all be lies, of course, and they would be aimed to hurt Brennan. He could only pray that she wouldn't see the interview on television later.

"How do you think it went?" Angela asked softly, tearing her eyes away from the scene.

He twisted his mouth, replaying Brennan's departure in his head. "I don't know," he admitted at last. "I mean... she's already in pain, no matter what. It's just... hard to tell if she's in _more_ now, or not."

Angela winced. "Yeah," she whispered. "I asked her to call me... but she probably won't."

"Don't give up on her," Booth said, taking Angela's usual line for himself. "You've made a huge difference for her. If she's going to call anyone... it _will_ be you."

The artist nodded, and then hesitated before standing to leave.

"Here," she tossed a ten dollar bill down on the table.

"That's more than your coffee would have cost," he said with a raised eyebrow, making no move to pick it up.

"Yes, it is," she said firmly. "Thanks, Booth."

And then she turned and walked out, leaving him alone once again.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_June 22__nd__, 2018_

"Any word, yet?" Booth asked as Angela slumped down into the seat across from him.

"Not looking good," Angela answered quietly, raising her head to call over the waitress. She ordered her usual sandwich and then turned her attention back to them. Since last week, they had made the Diner their usual meeting place to discuss what was happening. It was more familiar, and it felt less like they were prying uninvited in Brennan's business.

"Which one, the settlement or the custody?" he asked, his chest constricting with concern.

"Both," Angela hissed, cursing under her breath as she caught her sleeve on the salt shaker. It knocked over, and she tried to swipe the grains into a pile, but only managed to make it worse. The little glass vial rang loudly as it tumbled off the end of the table and bounced several feet away, luckily not shattering.

Angela tucked her head into her hands, her shoulders giving a shudder.

"Hey, easy..." he said carefully, bending over to retrieve the shaker and waving off the waitress that looked like she wanted to offer her assistance. "Ange, just tell me what's going on."

The past week, he had barely seen Brennan himself. He had run into her once, on the sidewalk, but she had been with her son, and she had looked like she really just wanted to get away. Not just from him, either; from everything. And so he had let her go on with her excuse that he had barely heard, looking after her and feeling more and more like he wasn't getting any better at this.

All he knew of the hearings came from Angela, who was at least in the loop. Brennan was, thankfully, talking to her openly about what was going on. To start with, the artist had kept him out of the loop. Just telling him the general details but nothing too revealing. And then, in the past few days, her concerns had started to make themselves known. And she had started telling him more and more, desperately seeking solace from Booth, and any sort of advice he might be able to offer to her.

He always felt like he didn't have enough to give, but talking to him seemed to help her, so he was glad of that, at least. It made him feel like he was offering _something_ to her, and to Brennan, that might be useful.

"She hasn't told me what it is, that they're saying about her... but she's afraid that James is going to get custody."

A cold grip washed through him, and his fingers seemed numb all of a sudden.

"It's... It's not over yet, though," Booth tried, desperately seeking a way out.

"No, but it's getting closer. Booth... I don't even know what to _say_ to her anymore. I can't... I can tell her over and over again that I know what she's going through, and that I know how tough it is, but I _don't_. I have no clue how I would handle the pain that she's got on her hands, and I just... I feel so useless. Like I can't even help her with the one thing that she's got left. I can't save her. And it's... god, it's killing me inside, Booth."

"You aren't the only one—I can't even talk to her _period_, Ange. I can't even get close to her. And I know exactly how you feel, because I'm feeling it too. Like I can never understand, like I can never feel enough to be level with her, like she's someplace that I can't _go_, that I can't even get to in order to bring her back."

A heaviness hung in the air between them, filled with the knowledge that neither of them wished to possess, and the fear that they couldn't escape.

"She'll be getting out soon," Angela murmured at last, glancing down at her bag and digging for her cell.

"She asked you to pick her up?" he guessed, his surprise unhidden from her.

"Yes; first time for everything, right?"

"I'm glad," he replied sincerely.

She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, and then she admitted, "She asked about you, the other day."

"She... she did?"

"Yeah. Wanted to know how you were doing. Whether or not you were still working with the team."

"And what did you tell her?"

"That you were keeping busy, although most of the cases involved consulting for other agents with our help. She seemed glad—that you were still working at the Jeffersonian."

"I knew she would be," he said with a short laugh, shaking his head and staring down into his mug. He let the smile stay in place, only fading slightly as he looked up to meet her eyes again. "I'm glad you told me, Ange."

"She never told me not to," the artist answered with a shrug, looking away and out at the slight drizzle that was falling from the canopy that covered the window.

"But you still didn't have to tell me."

Another shrug, and she brushed her hair out of her face, chewing on her lower lip. He leaned back into his booth seat.

"Is Hodgins jealous yet, of how much time you're spending with me?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood. He was relieved when she laughed, her familiar smile sweeping across her face.

"Not that he's told me. To be honest, I think he gets bored when all I talk about is Brennan. And he hates to hear me so upset. So he might actually be glad, that I'm sorting out my feelings with you."

Booth nodded thoughtfully.

"James can't win," he said. It was like a whispered prayer.

"I just wish there was some way we could stop him," she murmured back in agreement.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_June 29__th__, 2018_

She looked terrified, when she jumped and spun to see who had called her name. The look didn't go away, even after she recognized him, and there was a shuttered, vulnerable edge to the way she crossed her arms over her chest and held herself in place behind her basket.

He stepped over, smiling ruefully over the tomatoes. "Fancy seeing you here."

She rolled her tongue over her lips, refusing to meet his eyes. Her gaze roved over their surroundings, as if looking for an escape route. He hesitated, and then carefully stepped back just a fraction, giving her more space.

They hadn't seen each other in over a week, and the last time they had really spoken had been back at the beginning of the month. Almost three weeks ago, now. He hadn't expected that their next encounter would be bump-free, and he certainly hadn't expected to see her today, of all days.

Decision day.

"I needed to get out," she said honestly, a challenge in her tone. She still wouldn't look at him, and occupied herself thoroughly in sorting through a collection of apples, selecting a large gala and tucking it into her basket next to her other fresh produce.

Normally, he wouldn't be caught at a fruit vendor, but he'd started coming to this one in particular months ago, after she had mentioned the good prices and the wide selection. He never bought much, but it was on his route home, and it was convenient. He had never run into her while shopping, though. Not before today.

"I understand," he said with a shrug, trying to keep the conversation light.

She nodded, biting her lip anxiously. "How's work?" she tried at last, when he said nothing else.

"Not too much excitement. A lot of office politics and trying to work around people I don't like, but that's typical. We haven't had any new cases; just been doing a lot of on-and-off stuff with the lab. It's nice, though, not having any paperwork because of it."

She smiled softly, accepting his humor much like she always had. It was a sight he would swim a thousand miles just to see again, and he tried not to look too struck when she finally met his gaze.

"How are you doing?" he asked, caught in her turquoise eyes and unable to look away. The seriousness of the question broke apart the casual conversation he had been aiming for, but he didn't regret it. He needed to ask, and he suspected that she might need to answer, as well.

"I'm fine," she said, a kneejerk response. But then she sighed and lifted her hand to brush through her hair. "It's... been a tough month," she corrected, eyeing him as she waited on a reaction. All this time, and yet here she was, _still_ expecting judgment for her insecurities and imperfections. It never ceased to amaze him, and it hurt just the same as it always had in the past.

"Of course," he agreed softly. "I mean... God, you've been through a lot, Brennan."

Her gaze flicked away, seeking safety on the cracked sidewalk beneath her sandaled feet.

"Hey," he said, drawing her eyes back up to his. "I didn't mean to make you upset," he assured. "I just... you _have_ been through a lot. And I feel like maybe you don't realize just how much everyone else is aware of that. How much it makes us worry about you, because we _care_."

He knew at once that he had said too much, because she shifted, and then she started moving away, hurriedly collecting the rest of the vegetables on her list and moving towards the register.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, drawing even with her again. He still needed to work on keeping his emotions in check. Turned out, that was easier said than done. Especially when he hadn't seen her in so long. If he wasn't careful, though, he was going to drive her away simply because he was trying too hard.

"For what?" she asked distractedly, handing her basket over to the woman in charge of the vegetable market. He opened his mouth to answer, but the woman gave Brennan a price, and she dug through her wallet to pull out the exact change.

He tried to follow her down the sidewalk, but she spun on him.

"I have to go home, Booth. I have... a hearing this evening."

She didn't give him a chance to respond. She simply strode away, and he stayed put, knowing that this time he shouldn't follow.

She had enough on her plate, God knew. And today... today she was probably stressed more than ever before. Someone else, someone who didn't possess the knowledge of her that he and her friends did, was going to decide whether or not she was a better parent than James. Regardless of his positive views on the justice system that he served, he didn't trust in this situation even slightly.

He cursed himself for upsetting her, and turned to catch a cab to get home, empty-handed. He didn't have the heart to do his shopping. Not now.

Angela was meeting him at the Jeffersonian that evening, where they planned to keep vigil in the lounge until they received the news. This was different than their past meetings—this was the sort of thing they needed company to get through, even if the rest of the team wasn't going to be specifically sitting with them. Neither of them had said it... but they didn't want to be surrounded by strangers. They wanted to be in a place with friends.

He tried not to think about how Brennan should be surrounded by her friends in that courthouse, because he couldn't change her decision to go it alone. It was what she wanted, no matter how painful, and he had to respect it.

"Hey," Parker said from his position on the couch as Booth entered the apartment.

"Get that essay done?" he questioned as he tossed his keys on the table by the door.

His son rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad. I did."

"Did you call your mother?"

"I just talked to her last week."

"And?"

Parker gave him a strange look. "Alright, you're not usually this persistent. Did something happen with Brennan?"

He didn't answer, going to the kitchen to collect a beer from the fridge and returning to collapse at the other end of the couch. He took a swig, sighing and accepting the questioning look Parker was still directing his way.

"She finds out today," he said lowly.

"Ah," Parker sighed in understanding. "So it's... still in doubt, then?"

"You could put it that way," he muttered.

"Alright, you know what? I'll call Mom, if it will make you feel better."

"Thank you," Booth replied honestly, taking another long draft of the amber liquid.

"Clara called earlier," his son tossed over his shoulder as he snagged the phone from its cradle on his way to his room.

"How's she doing?"

"Having a lot of fun. They got a chance to go sight-seeing in London yesterday. It sounds like she's learning a lot, too. Says she misses me, though," he added with a lopsided grin.

"Good," Booth said warmly. "What did I tell you? And she'll be back before you know it."

Parker shrugged and clicked on the phone, dialing as he shut his bedroom door.

Booth slumped back into the couch cushion with a heavy sigh.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The silence was deafening, amidst the everyday chaos.

Around them, the lab hummed with ordinary activity; technicians roamed, interns chased down doctorates, and machinery whirred and buzzed with each input and output.

The lounge was empty besides the two of them, and they huddled over their respective coffee cups protectively, both of them just waiting for the indication of a message or the ringing tone that would indicate it had happened, and the results were in.

"What time did it start?" Booth asked again, even though he had just asked five minutes prior.

"Four," she answered immediately, raising her cup to her lips again and blowing gently even though the coffee had long ago gone cold.

He nodded to himself, eyes straying of their own accord to the large clock that hung on the wall.

Four-fifteen.

This wasn't so much a hearing as a reading of the decision. Any minute now, the decision would be announced. Maybe it already had been. There was no way for them to know.

"She's done everything she can," he said into the silence. "She would jump off a bridge if it would make that kid happy. She'd die before she let anything happen to him. I just... I don't _understand_."

"Neither do I," Angela sighed.

"And she... she still hasn't told you what they said? What exactly it is, that's got her so convinced she's going to lose?"

"Bits and pieces," Angela replied with a shake of her head. "Some nonsense about her caring more about her job than her family... something else about her trips overseas..."

"As if James hasn't gone on business trips before," Booth muttered mutinously.

"That doesn't mean anything," Angela said heavily. "I mean... you always hear about mother's winning custody, but there's a lot more to it than that. Especially... especially when the woman is like Brennan. When she's driven and intelligent and works hard. There was something I read in a magazine, once... about a case where the woman lost custody. Absentee mother versus good provider. I hate it, Booth. I hate the labels, and I hate how unfair it is, and I swear... if she loses this, I don't know if I can stand by."

"What can you do?" he asked, his anger boiling under the surface at the images her words had conjured up. He didn't want to think about Brennan losing. He didn't want to think about James getting away with everything, just because he knew how to hurt her better than she knew how to fight back.

"Nothing," she sighed, lifting her gaze to stare at the ceiling. "Absolutely nothing."

They fell into silence again, lost in their own, very similar, thoughts.

A vicious cycle of helplessness.

On the table, Angela's cell phone vibrated.

They both jumped, and Angela snatched it up, pressing it to her ear with a frenzied, "Brennan?"

Booth could only watch as her expression fell, as she went pale. Her dark eyes locked with his, and he saw all the hope extinguish in an instant. He barely recognized her as she swept to her feet and paced away, speaking rapidly. And he barely heard her words as she assured Brennan she would be there immediately.

When she hung up, she stood there for a long moment, facing him across the lounge. She looked like a broken doll, propped up but barely hanging in for the next scene.

"Ange..." he started, but she shook her head desperately, raising a hand to stop him.

"I... I have to go. To Brennan."

She glanced at the walkway, then at him, and then she opened her mouth as if to say something else. It shut with a snap, and her eyes swam, and then she was running.

He stayed put, standing there, his legs frozen in place so that he could not have moved if he wanted to. And he did want to. He wanted to go to her, to Brennan. He _wanted _to.

But he stayed, a cold dread sweeping through him.

He dropped back into his seat, buried his head in his hands, and let the pain wash through without restraint.

The future had never looked as dark... as it did in that very instant.

**Alright, no one kill me. Please. I know, I know... this looks really bad, but you did all sign up for angst, did you not? Have a little faith. This rollercoaster still has several large hills to go before we even out to a happy ending. **

**So... feedback? Even if it's to tell me how much you hate me right about now?**


	19. You Found Me

**A/N: *cringes at the new formatting* Ugh, what a... _pleasant_ surprise to log on and find today, right? I hope it's temporary. Anyways, this chapter's song is You Found Me, by The Fray. Enjoy... well, try to, at least. And just keep reminding yourselves that you signed up for angst, haha. **

**Also, my other story, Always All For You, is up and is going to be a wonderfully angsty ride. I spent the past weekend plotting out a very in-depth storyline that I have fallen in love with. I hope some of you will tag along for that ride as well :)**

**Please note that we are now nearly in July in this story. The time lapse is very important. **

**Disclaimer: In addition to not owning them, I also don't have any actual experience in court or with divorce or custody proceedings. I apologize if I got anything wrong; I did attempt to research as much as I could.  
**

_Chapter 18: You Found Me_

_Where were you, when everything was falling apart.  
All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang  
And all I needed was a call that never came  
To the corner of 1st and Amistad_

_Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me_  
_Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded_

_June 29th, 2018 _

Angela scanned the crowds on the courthouse steps with growing anxiety. Brennan wasn't one of those being swarmed by the press—which was a relief—but not being able to find her was nearly worse. Had she taken off before Angela could get to her? Had the press already torn her apart?

The phone call had left her cold and numb. She didn't want to imagine how Brennan herself was feeling at the moment.

_"Can you... come and get me?" _had been the first words out of her mouth.

_"Bren, what happened?"_

_ "Please," _Brennan had choked out, and Angela had known, without needing confirmation. Her voice was broken and small. Like a lost child, helpless and terrified. It was a sound Angela had only ever heard from her once, and it had crushed everything in her and brought her back to a time in their lives that she had never wanted to visit again.

She had broken all sorts of driving laws on her way over, but she could care less. No one had stopped her, and that was all that mattered.

Sliding her car into the nearest parking space across the street, she jogged over, pushing through the gaggles of reporters, who paid her little attention. Thank goodness they had no idea who she was.

"I'm very pleased with the outcome," she heard James' haughty voice from the left, and her head snapped that way, her eyes narrowing. He was surrounded by the press, but that almost didn't matter as she contemplated whether or not to go claw his eyes out. "Obviously it was the best possible decision the judge could have made."

She took two swift steps forward before an arm caught hers and held her back.

Angela spun, fully prepared to take a swing at her assailant, but she dropped her arm immediately. "Jeanne," she said with a defeated sigh.

"I don't want to be defending you next," the lawyer said somberly.

"Where's Brennan?" Angela demanded, ignoring the comment.

"Still inside," Jeanne assured, "She's in the bathroom; I suggested that she call you for a ride, and it's where I usually send clients who don't want to be attacked by the mob out front while waiting."

Angela nodded, crossing her arms. "What happened?" she demanded lowly.

Jeanne took her arm and led her back up the steps, away from the crowd and towards the entrance.

"I'm not sure," she murmured, "But I'm going to go for an appeal, I can tell you that."

"Why?" Angela questioned instantly.

"There was something... off, about the whole thing. We had a lot of sympathy from the judge, but then he sided with Turner in the long run. And sure, Turner had a lot of good points, and his lawyers are the shifty, powerful type that usually get what they want... but I'm not used to losing, Ms. Montenegro. I'm not used to it at all. And _that_ is what's bothering me."

Angela opened her mouth to retort, her anger getting the best of her, but then they were surrounded, and questions were flying.

"Ms. Dellinger! Can you comment on—"

"What do you have to say about—"

"How does it feel—"

"Where's your client—"

Angela slipped through the throng, leaving Jeanne to fend for herself and jumping the last few steps up to the top before pushing her way inside through a freshly departing group of suited men.

A young woman with strawberry blonde hair and a smooth black pencil skirt was sitting on the bench outside the bathroom, a notepad at her side and a nail file running smoothly over her manicure. Angela didn't spend much time with the press, but she could peg a reporter with practiced ease.

"Hello," she said sweetly, standing over the woman with her hands on her hips.

"Oh. Hello," the woman replied, smiling widely and displaying an overly perfect row of white teeth.

"What's your angle?" she questioned, nodding towards the notepad.

The woman stammered, tittering a cute little laugh that Angela found revolting, and tucked the notepad up against her chest.

"Who are you with?" she queried back.

"No one," Angela said with a shrug. "But it seems to me that you don't belong in here. The party is outside, isn't it?" she raised an eyebrow, tapping a heel warningly.

"Right," the woman said, getting to her feet and smoothing her skirt. She looked flustered, and confused as to why Angela intimidated her so much. The artist tended to have that effect on people she disliked. It was a weapon she used without shame, and she watched in satisfaction as the woman hurried away.

She pushed her way into the bathroom the little vulture had been eagerly guarding. "Bren?" she called hesitantly, glancing up the empty hallway of cubicles. There was no response, and she moved forward, her heels clicking loudly on the tiles, the sound echoing.

The cubicle farthest away opened slowly, and Brennan stepped out, her eyes red and the tear-tracks down her face clearly displayed in the flickering bathroom lighting. She was pale, and she looked like she had just been violently ill.

"Oh, Bren," she whispered, running forward to wrap her arms around her best friend. Brennan stared blankly over her shoulder, her arms hesitantly lifting to wrap around Angela's back.

She pulled back after a long moment and tried to meet Brennan's eyes, but they were still locked on the opposite wall, not really seeing it. Biting her lip, Angela wrapped an arm around Brennan's shoulders and carefully guided her towards the door. Brennan offered no resistance, cooperating in silence.

That almost scared her more than anything else had.

_"Come on, Bren. Let's... let's get something to drink, okay? Let's go... down to the cafeteria."_

_ Brennan's eyes, haunted and cold, lifeless, didn't meet hers. A slight movement of her head—it could have been a nod—was the only sign Angela got that her words had been heard at all. _

_ She carefully took her friend by the arm and led her away from the waiting room. All of their friends' faces stared after them, a sea of pain all in themselves. _

_ "It's... it's going to be okay," she tried desperately as they began the descent down the stairs. _

_ They had only made it down five steps when Brennan turned to stone, trapped in place. Angela stopped on the stair below her, turning in alarm. And then her friend crumpled, collapsing against the wall and sliding down, clinging to the cold cinder block and slipping down a few stairs as she dropped. _

_ "No," she whispered, and her eyes finally met Angela's with a sweeping terror in them. It caught Angela in it's beam, and she felt all the blood drain from her own face. The numbness, the fear, was suddenly all she could perceive. "No," Brennan whispered again, shaking her head frantically. _

_Her gaze shot away, sweeping their surroundings and not really seeing any of it. Her trembling fingers raised in front of her face, and she stared at them as if for the first time._

_ "Booth," she choked out, and her eyes went back to Angela's. "Booth," she implored._

_ "Sweetie..." Angela whispered. "Booth's gone."_

_ "No. No..."_

_ "I'm so sorry. Bren, I'm so, so sorry..."_

_ "Booth," she said again, and her eyes searched the ceiling, as if looking for some sort of answer. Brennan never did that. Booth was the one that did that. With a sinking feeling, she wondered if Brennan was trying to find him, in some way, within herself. Trying to bring him back in any way she could._

_ "He saved you," Angela beseeched. "Just... come with me, okay, sweetie? He wouldn't want.."_

_ "He shouldn't have saved me," Brennan said instantly. The first fully-aware sentence she had uttered since they had been given the news. Her eyes met Angela's, with a darkness there she had never seen before. Her voice shook, and it was small when it came out again. "I should be dead."_

"Come on," Angela said softly, her voice shaking despite herself as she pushed open the bathroom door and peered around before she led Brennan out with her. She didn't know how they were going to get back to her car, but she did know that she wasn't letting anyone near Brennan. Over her dead body. She'd deal with an assault charge on one of those monsters before she let them hurt her friend any further than she already had been.

At the doors, she paused, and then moved so that she was on the visible side before she guided Brennan out. They moved to the left immediately, and began to cut down the stairs at an angle. Angela kept her eyes down, determined to catch as little attention as possible, her heart pounding frantically in her chest as she listened to the systematic popping of the camera flashes and the babble of voices that came from the press and those they were surrounding.

There hadn't even been this much press when Brennan was involved with her father's murder trial; what was their world coming to? She hated to think it was because Brennan had been more in the public eye due to her work and success, but that was the first thought that came to mind. That, and the possibility that James had something to do with it.

Now that was something she wouldn't doubt even slightly.

She felt eyes on her before she heard any voices, and she couldn't help but glance up. The reporter she had chased away from the bathroom was staring at her from the edge of the gathering that surrounded Jeanne Dellinger.

Her eyes went wide as they slid from Angela and caught sight of Brennan directly behind her. Realization dawned, and she glanced swiftly back at the rest of the press before dodging forward, speed-walking at her own angle across the stairs, moving to cut them off. At least she wasn't bringing the others with her. But regardless, she wasn't going to get the exclusive that she was hoping for.

"Mrs. Turner—"

Brennan's head shot up, her eyes widening as they locked on the woman who was rapidly approaching.

"Go," Angela said swiftly, pointing out her car across the street. "I'll be right there, I promise."

She swept forward to intercept the reporter without checking to see if Brennan followed her suggestion. She could only hope she would.

"What's your name?" Angela asked, blocking the woman's path.

She stammered for a second, her eyes following Brennan. She attempted to cut past, but Angela moved into her way again with ease.

"Your name," she repeated firmly.

"Judy Sellick," she said, her frustration palpable. "Mrs. Turner!" she called. Angela cut her off again, but now they were getting a few stares from the other members of the press. She cursed internally.

"Her name is Temperance Brennan," Angela corrected venomously, poking a finger in Judy's face. "_Dr. _Temperance Brennan. If you did your research properly, you'd know that. So, not only did your parents fail to teach you any sort of empathy, but apparently your teachers failed to explain to you how to report properly."

Judy's mouth flew open in indignation, but Angela was already moving on.

"I hope, I sincerely _hope_ that one day, that is you," she hissed, pointing to Brennan's retreating figure. "And then maybe you'll figure out just what sort of despicable, soulless person you are, and all of your little friends."

She spun on her heel, hurrying to catch up to Brennan, but not before she called over her shoulder. "Feel free to print that. See if your readers still side with you, then."

Brennan was hunched in the passenger seat when she reached the car, and Angela jerked her own door open, ducking inside and revving the engine. The cameras flashed at them, and she shoved her foot down on the pedal, peeling away from the courthouse and leaving them far behind.

In her rearview mirror, she caught sight of Judy standing exactly where she'd left her, her shocked expression still frozen in place.

_I really hope she doesn't actually print that_, she thought to herself, wincing internally.

Her attention, though, turned itself to Brennan, who was now staring emptily out the window looking like she very much wanted to avoid talking about what had happened.

Sighing softly, she looked away and gave her friend what she wanted, knowing that Brennan would talk when she was ready. She set a course for her own house, knowing that there was no way she was letting Brennan be alone for even a second today. She was staying with her and Hodgins tonight, whether she liked it or not.

It took five minutes of silence before Brennan spoke, her voice soft and hesitant.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Angela glanced at her in surprise, and then turned her eyes back to the road as she answered. "My place, Bren."

Rather than the fight she had been anticipating, her friend simply nodded, turning back to the window again and blocking Angela's view of her face. In the mirror, though, she saw the first of the tears trickle loose and zigzag its way down her cheek.

She bit her lip and stayed silent, her hands clutching the wheel too tightly. She was exceeding the speed limit by much more than she normally advised, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She needed to get them home; it was the only thing she could come up with that might make things remotely better. She didn't know how, exactly, but she knew it was the first step.

They were about halfway there when the sobs started, and Angela pulled off the road, shoving the vehicle into park and reaching across to pull her friend into an awkward sideways hug. Brennan's shoulders wracked with each broken gasp, and all Angela could do was hold on, wishing she knew what to say. This time, though, she was at a loss.

"Sweetie," she whispered, as Brennan struggled to catch her breath.

"Full custody," she choked. "He got... he got..."

"Shh..." Angela soothed helplessly, rubbing her hand in circles across Brennan's upper back. "Breathe," she instructed, and Brennan stared blankly up at her, still struggling for several long minutes, every now and then another sob breaking loose.

"Every other... every other weekend," she whispered at last, shaking her head, her expression trembling, on the very brink of collapsing again.

Angela gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You can appeal the decision, Brennan... you're going to get through this... I promise..."

Brennan just shook her head, though, not even slightly convinced. "Keep driving," she murmured at last, pulling away and leaning back towards the window again. Retreating into herself.

Angela stared at her for a few more long seconds, and then turned the key and pulled back out onto the road.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan's head was spinning, and she felt like she was going to be sick again. But she held it in, trying to grab hold of the world and stop it from tilting around her.

Nothing was right. Nothing made sense. She was barely aware of Angela's presence next to her, and yet hyper-aware of it, all at the same time. It felt like she was being watched, monitored, but she couldn't see the probes being poked at her. She was swimming through a foggy cloud of doubt and fear, and chaos was all she could find.

Chaos, and the overwhelming weight of loss.

_"The following are granted to Mr. Jameson Turner: possession of the home formerly occupied by the couple, possession of the yacht purchased by Mr. Turner two years prior to the marriage, and half of the funds of the shared bank account."_

A cold shiver struck its way through her, like a bolt of lightning. She jerked her arms up around herself and tried to focus on the line of trees outside the window as they rolled past.

_"Dr. Temperance Brennan is granted half of the value of all which Mr. Turner possesses. Her half of the home payments is to be granted by Mr. Turner. All future funding from her writing and anthropological career will belong solely to her, as all future funding from Mr. Turner's business is to belong solely to him."_

The car slowed as it turned down Angela's street.

_"Custody of the child in question, Nicholas Russell Turner, is to be granted in full to the boy's father." The other side of the courtroom erupted, as James' supporters leaned forward and the lawyers clapped him on the back. "Dr. Brennan will be given every other weekend, without exception, and without supervision, with the child. That first weekend is set for July 14th. Any other access is for Mr. Turner to grant at his own will."_

"Bren, we're here."

She jerked away from Angela's hand as it reached out to gently touch her shoulder, and she pulled the seatbelt away from her and burst out of the door, pacing away from the car, the house, and Angela herself.

Cautious footsteps told her she was being followed, but she didn't care. Arms still tucked around her ribcage, she kept walking. It felt like if she didn't keep moving, she might fall to pieces right here on the sidewalk, and she just couldn't do that. Couldn't handle it.

"Where are you going?" Angela called, her footsteps speeding up. Brennan increased her own pace, walking further away from Angela's house. Suddenly, she wanted to be away from everyone, from everything. And she didn't want to think. Didn't want to _know_ what she knew. Didn't want to face what had just happened, only minutes ago.

It felt like hours ago, and she was drained.

"Brennan," Angela persisted, and she finally slowed, knowing she couldn't actually escape. She could only delay the inevitable. And she was so tired of running. So tired of fighting her friends, of trying to do this on her own.

Hadn't she already decided to stop that, before the divorce hearings started? Shouldn't she be seeking their comfort now, rather than trying to get away from it?

Angela reached her side, giving her a worried look and reaching out to tentatively place her hand on Brennan's shoulder. This time, Brennan leaned into her rather than pulling away.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I just... I guess I needed to get away, to realize that... I didn't want to get away."

Angela nodded thoughtfully, not commenting on how unlike her it was, to be so poetic. To use psychology so openly.

"Let's... get inside. I'll go and... get anything you need me to get for you."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," Angela cut her off.

Biting her lip, Brennan nodded, and then she murmured hesitantly, "Thank you."

Angela sighed, a breath of pure relief, and she offered a warm smile as she wrapped her arm around Brennan's shoulder again and strode back towards the house. Brennan leaned into her embrace, allowing herself a soft smile at the warmth she felt from her friend. Angela knew what she was doing, and Brennan was going to trust in it.

And maybe, if she was done running from Ange... she should stop running from everything else as well.

"Our home is yours," Angela announced as she opened the doors and motioned for Brennan to precede her into the main hall. Brennan was familiar with the mansion, having been there many times in the past, but it always managed to take her breath away. There was something magical about it, something that spoke purely of Angela and Hodgins, unlike most large houses that always seemed cold and aloof. It was a testament to them, that the whole building always felt cozy despite the sweeping arches and tall ceilings.

"Sounds like they're here," she heard Hodgins saying, his voice echoing around the corner, from the living room. A murmur of young voices and then running footsteps, and Angela's three children burst into sight, their socks skidding on the marble floor.

The oldest, Garrett, pulled to a stop while the twins barreled forward.

"Aunt Temperance!" Kate squeaked excitedly, her orange-amber curls bouncing. She was only a year older than Nick, but she was tall for her age. Her voice and chubby face were reminders of just how much growing she had left, though.

"Hi!" Trace said from his sister's side, staring up and grinning hugely. He bounced in place, his dark hair falling in his eyes.

"Come on," Angela shooed, ushering them forward with a wave of her hands. "To the kitchen with all of you. Supper will be ready soon. Wash up first!" she added as an afterthought as they all skidded around the corner again. "Sorry," she muttered apologetically, but Brennan smiled at her, belaying the pang in her chest.

"They've grown since I last saw them," she said, keeping her tone warm. Angela's children had always made her happy; they were bright and excitable, and always so thrilled to see her... but seeing them now was like a punch to the gut. A reminder of what she had lost today.

Angela nodded, understanding both what she was saying and what she wasn't, and led her forward towards the living room.

Hodgins was sitting on the corner of the couch, the television on low with some sort of sport playing. The fireplace crackled, and he dropped his newspaper and stood up.

"Dr. B," he said, offering a smile. For once, the pity she had been expecting wasn't there. Just the warm offer of friendship and safety. She almost wondered if she had been overreacting all that time, reading things in everyone's expressions and words that they hadn't been meaning at all.

"Hello, Jack," she greeted, returning the smile.

"I've got lasagna in the oven; it's all set, if you're hungry."

Angela glanced at her, and she nodded. "I can eat. And... lasagna sounds very good. It smells good, too, actually," she added, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Jack beamed. "Good. Because I was pretty sure I destroyed it."

Angela punched his arm playfully. "You're not supposed to tell the company that," she teased.

"Oh. Oops. What I meant to say... is that I slaved over it for hours. So no one can complain when it has a weird aftertaste. Ow!" he rubbed his arm, grinning cheekily.

"Let's go make sure he didn't burn it," she said to Brennan, covering a smirk.

"Hey, I never said it _burned,_" Hodgins pointed out with exaggerated indignation, following them.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She lay on her bed in one of the guest rooms, staring blankly at the ceiling with her fingers twined together across her abdomen on top of the blankets. It was past midnight, and she knew it, but she couldn't fall asleep.

Somewhere down the hall, she heard the floorboards creak, and wondered if it was Angela, Hodgins, or one of their children wandering out of bed. Perhaps to go get a drink of water.

Her eyes slid shut, and she breathed out a slow sigh.

It was nice of Angela to give her this, to bring her here and make sure she wasn't alone right now. It was nice of her to give her a home when she was so suddenly homeless. It was nice... to have some semblance of a surrogate family, when hers was gone.

_"Isn't it true, that you missed your son's second birthday, Dr. Brennan?"_

_ "There was a plane crash at the airport where I was supposed to be taking off the day before, from New Zealand."_

_ "And you stayed, did you not?"_

_ "To help identify the victims," she insisted, leaning forward. "Anthropologists aren't easy to come by, I was right there, I was—"_

_ "You were _not_ at your son's birthday," the lawyer cut her off._

_ "No," she murmured heavily._

The air conditioner thrummed to life, buzzing in the corner of the room. She opened her eyes and glanced at it, taking in the long shadows cast by the neon numbers that indicated the temperature settings.

_"Why did you cheat on your wife, Mr. Turner?"_

_ He looked out, past Joel, and met her eyes. "Because I couldn't find the love that I wanted, at home."_

_ "You're wife didn't love you?"_

_ "Maybe she did, but I never felt it the way I should have, after the first few years."_

_ "And you worry about your son?"_

_ "If she couldn't show she love to me, how could she possibly love our son the way he deserves to be loved?"_

_ "Objection!" Jeanne cried, standing up. Brennan stared blankly ahead, not hearing anything for the longest time afterward._

She rolled to the right, drawing her legs up to her chest and nestling her head into the pillow. It was her pillow; true to her word, Angela had gone back to the house to gather her belongings. She hadn't said much about it... but it was clear that James had already moved back in.

Nick was alright, Angela had said. He had asked about her. He was confused.

But he was okay. Not scared, just having trouble understanding.

_"There was a picnic at your husband's work, correct?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "And you... didn't attend, even though you had promised your son you would be there?"_

_ "We were chasing a man who had beheaded five women—"_

_ "July 4th, 2017," Kevin said, overriding her. "What did you promise your son?"_

_ "That I would be at the fireworks show," she answered softly._

_ "And were you?"_

_ "There was—"_

_ "Were you _there_, Dr. Brennan?"_

_ "No."_

_ "Whose idea was it, to hire a nanny?"_

_ "Mine. I didn't want him to go to a daycare."_

_ "Would you say you make the same income as Mr. Turner?"_

_ "More," she answered with a toss of her head and a dare in her eyes._

_ "And that's important to you, correct?"_

_ "I believe in standing for myself, and making ample use of the skills I have learned, in order to help others."_

_ "Would you say you use your knowledge in writing the very popular book series that you have published?"_

_ "Of course. I—"_

_ "And which of your careers has given you the bulk of your fortune?"_

_ "My writing, but—"_

_ "So it's reasonable to say that you could give up your job at the lab, and still provide for you son equally?"_

_ "Yes, but at the lab I—"_

_ "You have a good time," Joel filled in for her. "Because you enjoy catching murderers. It's a thrill, right? But you don't have to be doing it. How many times, Dr. Brennan, did Mr. Turner suggest that you leave one of your careers so you could spend more time with your family?"_

_ "I... I don't know..."_

_ "Enough, though, right? Would you say he suggested it at least a dozen times during your marriage?"_

_ "And I _have_ left it," she pointed out._

_ "When threatened with divorce. Not when it mattered, Dr. Brennan. Not when it would have made a difference."_

A loose sob broke through, and she clamped her jaws together, pressing her palm over her lips to muffle the sound. No matter how much she was letting Angela in, now, she didn't want to drag her from her bed because she was having a middle-of-the-night breakdown.

She lifted a hand and watched the long shadows her fingers became, running down from the ceiling and across the wall. She twisted them, letting the lines waver.

She wished desperately that sleep would claim her, so she could find an escape from this cycle of self-torment. The memories just wouldn't stop...

_Booth stood there, beside her, at the vegetable stand. He was offering things she couldn't possibly accept, and he was saying things she wanted helplessly to believe. It was the helplessness, though, that terrified her. _

Love had hurt her over and over again, especially when it involved him. And yet, her heart was ready to surrender itself to him all over again. And her brain... well, her brain was coming up with less and less to oppose that decision.

She wanted him. She wanted the security and the warmth and the friendship that had been lacking from every other relationship she had ever been in. She wanted the easy conversation and the jokes and the teasing; she wanted to fall into his arms and know that they didn't have to call it a guy hug anymore.

_You just got a divorce finalized today,_ a furtive voice reminded her, from the depths of her thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut. More reason to seek out Booth. There was something that Angela couldn't offer her, and it was exactly what she would find in the comfort Booth would offer.

But she couldn't. She couldn't run to her old partner.

Never mind the concept she had been living off of, that involved staying away to keep from hurting him... she had the greater problem of _knowing_ that it would hurt him if she went to him now. There were two different ways she could hurt him, truly, and coming to him because her last relationship had failed would hurt him just as much as it would have hurt her, had he sought her out after Hannah.

It wasn't fair, and she knew it. And even if he said he didn't care, which he probably would, it still would be wrong. She needed time, and he needed time.

No more pushing him away, though. There was something that had been evoked in her, after they had gotten coffee, after they had stopped seeing each other during the divorce... and it had been an ache in her chest that had nothing to do with losing her marriage and everything to do with losing him.

It was a feeling she had suppressed since Maluku. A feeling so powerful that it made the urge to cry like a lost child so much harder to fend off.

Her door creaked open, and she pushed herself up against the pillow, blinking in the stream of light that shifted its way through the crack.

"Hey," Ange said softly, stepping in when she saw that her friend was awake. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No," she sighed, shaking her head.

Angela nodded, moving forward in slipper-clad feet and seating herself gingerly at the bottom of Brennan's mattress. "I couldn't sleep," the artist admitted.

"Neither could I," Brennan murmured ruefully.

"I've been trying to count sheep," Angela said, and Brennan wasn't sure if she was joking or not. "Obviously it's no more effective than it was when my dad told me to try it when I was twelve."

Brennan laughed shortly, but her smile faded away as she responded seriously, "I've been trying to stop thinking about today."

"Understandable," Angela said emphatically. "Do you... want to talk about it?"

"Not really," she sighed, staring up at the ceiling and shifting to tuck her legs under her arms.

"But there's something else you want to discuss?" Angela guessed correctly.

"Yeah," she said heavily. Her grey gaze met Angela's dark one seriously. "I don't know what to do. About... Booth."

A relieved smile washed over Angela's face, and she ducked her head, composing herself.

"Oh sweetie, thank goodness." Her expression was open, though, clearly waiting for Brennan to start the rest of the conversation.

"Ange, I think I still..." she swallowed, and then shook her head, giving a choked laugh at herself. She couldn't even say it. What sort of a coward did that make her?

Angela's hand landed on top of hers, and there was an understanding on her face that saved Brennan from finishing the sentence.

"I can't ruin things again," Brennan restarted.

"The first thing to do... is to stop blaming yourself for anything that happened before," Angela said firmly, leaning forward. She pushed herself fully up on the bed, and sat with crossed legs so she could face Brennan directly. "And stop worrying about hurting people. If you worry all the time... you just forget to live. And everyone, _everyone_ makes mistakes. Look at what Hodgins and I did to one another."

"But Booth... it's not the same as before. And... what I did doesn't compare to you and Hodgins."

"How do you think Booth's sees it?" Angela shot back, trying a different tactic.

Brennan floundered for a moment, "I don't... I don't think I understand your question."

"Do you think he blames you?"

"He should—"

"But _does_ he?"

"I don't... I don't think so..."

"There you go, then. He doesn't blame you. You know who he does blame?" When Brennan had no response, she leaned closer still. "He blames himself."

"But he shouldn't—"

"So? You blame yourself, and he doesn't think you should be doing that, either."

"What am I supposed to _do, _though?"

"Just tell him that you want to spend time with him again. Honestly, Bren, that's all he needs to hear."

"But with James..."

"He's not going to rush into anything, sweetie. He just wants to know that you're still out there, and that you're still thinking about him as much as he's thinking about you. And if you just... let things go the way they should, eventually I think you'll find it all works out."

"Your psychic told me that," Brennan commented softly, smiling sadly.

"What?" Angela asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.

"Your psychic. She told Booth and I, years ago... that it would all work out eventually. I didn't know what she meant at the time, but I understand, now. Even though I give psychics no real credence."

"Of course not," Angela agreed with a somber nod, smirking slightly.

They were silent for a long moment, and then Brennan asked tentatively, "Ange... do you really think I still have a chance?"

"Always, Brennan. There's always a chance."

She nodded, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek as she stared down at her fingers, twisting the edges of the blankets back and forth.

"Thank you," Brennan whispered.

"Always," Angela murmured again, and reached forward to once again squeeze Brennan's hand with her own.

**I swear, there is an actual happy ending coming. Eventually. And for those of you who want a scope on the grand-scheme of things, this story will be about 35 chapters long when I'm through with it :) Depending on how busy I am this summer, I may also write a sequel. No promises, though. **


	20. Just Say Yes

**A/N: I am so, so SOO sorry, guys. *bangs head against a wall repeatedly* Remember that chapter I posted on Tuesday? Remember how it started off in a weird place, and probably none of it made ANY sense? Yeah. That one. THAT WASN'T THE RIGHT CHAPTER. *continues to bang head against the wall* **

**I am soo embarrassed. THIS is Chapter 19. The real chapter 19. Because of my lovely error, I will put this chapter up now, along with putting the next one up so that it flows properly. You just won't get a chapter this Tuesday, because I'm behind and I need to catch up. **

**For excuses on why I am behind, please see Always All For You. My latest distraction.**

_Chapter 19: Just Say Yes_

_I'm running out of ways to make you see  
I want you to stay here beside me  
I won't be ok and I won't pretend I am  
So just tell me today and take my hand  
Please take my hand  
Please take my hand  
_

_July 1__st__, 2018_

The refrigerator door stopped with a soft thud, as it managed to hit the empty fruit drawer Booth had left an inch open. He scowled at the ceiling and nudged it shut with his foot just as Parker stepped into the room and leaned his shoulder against the door frame.

"I'm sensing defeat," he said with a raised eyebrow, waving a fanned out stack of takeout menus in his father's direction.

"Haven't done the cabinets yet," Booth warned, returning the look.

"Already said I would chip in…" Parker intoned, shrugging and whistling the McDonald's commercial theme tune.

"When's the last time you had an actual meal?" Booth argued. Despite best attempts, he really wasn't doing a very good job nutritionally. For him, or for his son. Yet another thing he was always trying, and failing, to change. It was just so much easier, not to mention satisfying—due to his low set of cooking skills—to grab a bite somewhere else.

"Well, let's see. When was my last visit with mom, again?"

"Funny," Booth muttered, rifling through the shelves over the countertop and muttering a curse under his breath. Crackers, chips, half-empty containers of cookies… nothing that might even contribute to a hearty supper.

"Come on, Dad. Just give in and accept that we both really want Chinese tonight."

He sighed in defeat and straightened up.

"Alright. Give me that."

Parker grinned and wagged his eyebrows, handing over the menu and crossing his arms. "I want some Lo Mein, and those crunchy chicken finger things with the duck sauce."

"You drive a hard bargain," Booth muttered as he pulled the phone from the cradle, still scanning through the options as he began to dial. "The usual?"

"If the usual means we get Lo Mein and chicken, then sure," Parker answered, already heading towards the living room. Booth heard the TV turn on just as an accented voice told him he had called the right place.

A knock sounded on the door just after he hung up, and he frowned.

"Park, you didn't call for food earlier, did you?"

He already knew the answer, though, because that made no sense. And neither of them were expecting company, as far as he was aware.

There were only a few possibilities for who it might be, but he still found himself surprised when he opened the door to discover Brennan on his doorstep. She looked slightly uncomfortable, and she was trying—and failing—to not draw attention to the bag she had half-concealed behind her feet.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. They hadn't talked since the divorce had been finalized. Angela had been the one to tell him what had happened in full, although he'd already gotten a pretty clear image of it from her reaction to the phone call that last day in the Jeffersonian lounge.

He had wanted to call Brennan himself, desperately, the entire day that followed. Angela had it under control, of course, because she was the one that would always have Brennan's back… and he trusted that she would have called him if she had needed him for anything… but _still_, the unknown had never been his strong suit, even if he was the supposed gambler between the two of them.

A part of him had started to lose hope when even Angela hadn't called him at all after she initially phoned in the middle of the night to answer his questions. He had appreciated not being left alone in the dark, though. And so he had patiently waited until Angela had dialed him once again last night, giving him the full run-down.

There had been something she wasn't telling him, though, and now he realized that this might very well be it. Angela had probably known this was going to happen. Maybe Brennan had even told her. Regardless, though, Brennan was here now. And it appeared that she had brought her things with her. He didn't need to be a top-ranked agent to put that puzzle together.

"Hey," Brennan answered back, shuffling her feet. Her eyes were wide, and lighter than usual. As he watched, a slight blush rose in her cheeks, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

She chewed her lip and glanced away.

"I, um… I'm really sorry," she started, the words rushing out as her gaze snapped back to meet his, a strange sort of desperation there that he had only seen from her on a few rare occasions. "I shouldn't even be here, and it's so stupid of me, and I've just been… a terrible friend to you, for a long time, and it wasn't even your fault but for years I've been trying to convince myself that… that it was, but it wasn't, and I just… If I had never even let this happen, if I had just…"

Booth reached forward, to rest a hand on her shoulder, and she fell silent, blinking up at him.

"Come in," he said softly, a reassuring smile spreading easily across his face. She had no way of knowing it, but he was so happy to just see her that she could probably say just about anything, and he'd be fine with it.

An incredulous smile crept at the corners of her lips, and she nodded, glancing behind her hesitantly. He stepped out, saving her the trouble of worrying or even asking, and picked up her bag for her. She stared at him with wide-eyed alarm, but he just smiled until it faded from her face, and then he motioned for her to go in ahead of him.

"We just ordered Chinese food," he informed her. "Have you… eaten yet?"

"I… no," she admitted, blushing again and turning her head downwards. "But I'm not… I don't want to eat your food, I can just…"

"Hey," he cut her off, and she stopped short again. "I live off of takeout and leftovers. Believe me, I ordered more than enough for even the three of us to finish. So, I hope you're hungry." He slung the bag down next to the couch, figuring that they could address its presence when she was ready to.

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem." He dropped onto the couch, and she sat down hesitantly at the other end.

"Hello, Parker," she said, smiling towards the kitchen. Booth glanced over to find his son still standing where he'd left him, fanning himself with the other takeout menus.

"Nice to see you again," he answered, grinning. At a look from his father, though, he gave a nonchalant little wave, and disappeared to his room. "Call me when food gets here!" he tossed over his shoulder as he went.

They were silent, for a long few minutes, once they were alone.

"Thought you were staying with Angela?" Booth asked softly, at last breaking the quiet that had fallen between them.

She twisted her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. "I was," she said finally.

"What happened?" he asked gently when she said no more.

"Nothing," she answered at once with a shake of her head. "I just… I don't know." He waited patiently, this time seeing the struggle she was having with herself, and waiting for her to finish. "It was nice," she answered after a lengthy pause. "But… it just got to be too hard, after a while. I can't even… explain it."

"I understand," he murmured softly. And he did. He knew exactly why she hadn't been able to stay with Angela. "I know it's hard, Brennan. And… I'm so sorry."

She nodded, brushing loose strands of hair out of her eyes and blinking.

"I knew it was going to happen," she whispered softly.

He hesitated, and then dared to ask cautiously, "What?"

"All of this," she said, a faint shade of anger in her voice as she raised her head. Her eyes met his. "What James did… I should have seen it coming. A long time ago. And then… Nick…"

"None of this was your fault," he tried, but her eyes were already blazing, and he realized he was about to hear all of it.

"Do you know I missed his third birthday?" She didn't wait for a response. "Do you know that… I promised him I would be there for all sorts of things, and I didn't show up? Do you know that… that apparently it's okay to have an affair so long as you can claim that your spouse is… incapable of loving you and _that's_ why you cheated?"

"That's what he said?" Booth asked, his voice low with horror and a great deal of barely restrained hatred.

"He said a lot of things," Brennan muttered. "And… and a lot of it was true."

"Hey," Booth said with a ferocity in his tone that made her look up, whether she had wanted to or not. "Don't do that," he said, more softly. "Don't let him win, Brennan."

"He already did!" she shouted, her teeth clamping together as she threaded her fingers through her hair again, fighting to keep her emotions in check.

"Maybe," Booth said firmly. "Maybe in front of a judge. But that doesn't mean he's right. Think of all the innocent people that have been or still are in prison, and all the scum walking free on the streets, because our system didn't work the way it's supposed to. I am telling you right now, that they are _wrong_. Because I don't care what James, or Kevin, or Joel have to say. I care… about what you have done. All the _good_ you have done. All the _love_ you have given to your family, your friends, and especially your son. And the fact that they couldn't see that… it tells me that something was wrong there. And you can still fight it. You can still win, Brennan. And the first thing you need to do is realize that they _are_ wrong. About everything."

"My lawyer is working for an appeal on the decision," Brennan admitted softly.

"See? Just… keep looking for ways to beat this. Don't give up."

She turned away once more, but this time she seemed to be deep in thought. He watched the way the light fell on her face, and the way her hair fell down by her shoulders, where it curled in different directions, soft and glistening with auburn in the sun.

"Why are you still nice to me?" she asked finally, and he blinked in confusion. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but this was something he certainly hadn't seen coming.

"You can take away the labels," he started, after a few seconds of silence, "But the fact is… you've _always_ been my partner. And you always will be. And that… has a lot more meaning to it than anything else ever has."

She stammered for a while, and then she argued. Which he had been expecting, honestly.

"I still… I don't understand. After everything that I… that I _did_… you still…"

"A lot of things have changed," he said, cutting her off again. "But some things… don't have to. Aren't meant to. And Brennan?" He waited until she was looking at him. "You can stay here as long as you need to. You aren't intruding, do you understand?"

"Thank you," she whispered, and he was more grateful than he could have expressed that she didn't argue him on it.

The doorbell rang, but before Booth could get up, Parker half-jogged through, grinning widely at the two of them and heading across to get the food.

"There was… something else I wanted to tell you," Brennan said hesitantly.

"Yes?" he asked, his brows drawing together in curiosity.

"I just… I just got a divorce, after seven years… so I'm not… exactly ready for anything new..."

"No, I get it," he said at once, shaking his head and raising his hand to stop her.

"No, that's not…"

"You don't have to explain, it's fine."

"That's not what I was going to say," she said, a little more firmly. His protests faded away, and his frown deepened as she took a steadying breath. "I'm not ready… right _now_. But… Angela has made me realize that I need to stop fighting myself on… certain issues. I just… thought you should know that."

He opened his mouth, but Parker was returning with the steaming bag of takeout, and he let it snap shut again. He had no idea what to make of what she had just told him, and he desperately wanted to ask for clarification, but somehow… he knew that he had probably understood her perfectly.

So what did that mean?

He stood abruptly, and she followed suit as Parker led the way to the kitchen.

She gave him a tight, uncomfortable smile, and he bumped his shoulder into hers teasingly as they reached the kitchen. Her eyes lightened, and she commented on how good the food smelled as they all pulled out their chairs.

"I know it's not Thai, but it will do," Booth said with a grin, digging out the Lo Mein before Parker could get to it. He dumped a sizeable pile of the noodles on his dish, and as his son went for it he passed it over to Brennan, who obliviously scraped out some for herself while Parker gaped indignantly at his father. Booth just shrugged, grinning mischievously.

"It's great, Booth," she said, waving off his words. But he knew she had gotten the real meaning, and he resolved to return them to their traditional Thai dinners at some point soon. It would certainly help them on whatever this path it was that they were following.

"So... you're going to be staying here?" Parker asked nonchalantly, popping half a chicken finger into his mouth.

Booth shot him a sharp look, but Brennan answered easily, unfazed by his abrupt question. "Yes, I will be. If that's alright with you, of course."

"Hey, just don't drop too many childhood hopes on me at once, and I'll be fine. You don't happen to have a pony outside or something, as well?"

"What do you—?" Brennan asked slowly, shaking her head in confusion and glancing towards Booth for an explanation.

"Parker," he said warningly, but his son ignored him, shrugging to Brennan's question and carrying on as if his father wasn't there.

"I did always sort of think, you know, that you'd move in some day. Or I guess, I was sort of hoping we'd move in with you. You know, in your old building, with the pool?" the last word was a light laugh on his part, and his eyes sparkled.

Booth was just relieved to see that Brennan didn't seem bothered at all by what Parker was saying. In fact, she seemed to appreciate his honesty. He wondered if this had something to do with the fact that they had talked before, without him. Maybe there was a connection there that he hadn't realized.

"You did love that pool," she said with a grin. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then said softly, "Maybe I'll get a pool at my new place as well. I did rather enjoy having one."

Booth's eyebrows went up. "You're... already looking, Brennan?"

"I... yeah. A bit. I just... want to get back on my feet. Angela's helping me, and... I'm looking forward to it. I liked my apartment before; I will be glad to get back to that environment."

"Well... if you need me to help you with anything, just let me know."

"I... of course. And I don't want to be here long. I don't want to get in your way, or—"

"Hey," he cut her off. "You're not in the way. You can stay here for a year, and I won't care. Although I might ask you to chip in on the rent, at that point," he added, trying to lighten the mood.

She cracked a smile, laughing softly. "At that point, I would just buy the building for you," she assured.

All teasing aside, he suddenly realized she was serious. For all her acting, she really was far more liberal with her money than she seemed. He knew for a fact just how many charities she was involved with, and she had a hard time saying no. He had never told anyone that, because he knew she would be upset, but that didn't mean he hadn't wanted to, at times. It was the reason she hadn't wanted to pay for Wendell's scholarship, in part. Because she had already been supplying multiple scholarships nationwide, most of them focused on student's with a background in foster care. All she really needed to do was here the full story, like she had with the little town she had saved by paying for the bridge that time, and she went all-in.

He wished more people could see her heart the way he could.

How James had managed to ignore that, to abuse it, was something he would probably never be able to understand.

They talked sociably for the rest of dinner, with Parker filling her in on the stats for his past few years of sports, and Brennan asking eagerly for details about his college life, and what he thought of his classes.

Booth was struck suddenly, as they were putting their plates into the dishwasher, side by side, by just how simple it all seemed. How much it felt like they had always been doing this, like they were right where they should be. It was not a feeling he had ever had before, with any other woman who had shared his apartment. And she hadn't even spent a night yet, nor was she going to do so in the traditional sense.

"The couch is new," he informed her, as they migrated back to the living room. Parker had taken a call from Clara, who was back from England as of two days ago, and shortly thereafter he had departed with little explanation other than a grin and a wave as he shut the door. "It folds out into a full-size bed. I've got plenty of extra sheets and pillows... I would give you Parker's room, but it's a mess. And I already know you well enough to know that you're not going to take my room from me no matter how much I beg or how much logic I use."

"Good," she said, her white teeth gleaming in the light from the lamp beside her as she grinned. "At least you learned something after all these years. Besides, you would have lost that logical argument regardless. There's no circumstance under which you should be sleeping on the couch in your own apartment, just because I'm here."

"Chivalry didn't die," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Women like you killed it."

She raised an eyebrow. "That statement itself doesn't make sense. You can't say something isn't dead and then say that someone killed it. The logic doesn't apply."

He tossed a pillow at her face, and she caught it with a loud, shrill laugh. He hadn't heard such a wonderful sound in years. God, when was the last time he had heard her really, _truly_, laugh?

"Booth!" she cried, still laughing as she threw it back at him. It bounced off his outstretched hand and dropped onto the floor as he joined her in the laughter.

"That wasn't a very civil way to treat your host, you know," he said through his wide grin, still chuckling.

"Oh, and I suppose it's completely civilized to toss pillows at guests?"

"Hey, my house, my rules."

"You let Parker behave like that?"

"I never said that. I, however... can do whatever I want." He kicked his feet up onto the middle cushion, so he was sitting with his knees pointed upwards, fully on the couch and facing towards her. He reached down nimbly and re-acquired the pillow, swiftly sending it at her once again.

This time, he caught her unaware. It slapped into her face lightly and fell into her lap. Her astonished expression left him roaring, though, and she wasn't far behind, diving forward to swipe it at his head, firmly gripping one corner of it in her fist as she swung.

"Uncle, uncle!" he cried out, his laughter slowly calming until they were both sitting facing each other, grinning like idiots and feeling like kids again, like there was nothing wrong in the world. It was a feeling that couldn't last forever, but with her eyes twinkling and that dazzling smile still on her face while her hair fell in tangles over her flushed face... he could hold onto it for as long as possible.

"I missed you," she said finally, still smiling, but now her head tilted to the side and she seemed cautious.

"I never left," he replied calmly, knowing that she would have to answer, and explain what she really meant by those words.

"I know," she said simply, biting her lip. "But... I feel like I did."

So they were going to talk about it. He nodded silently, steeling himself. He had been feeling lately like he had to watch his every step, to ensure he didn't screw things up. Now... this was the ultimate test.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan watched his face cautiously, trying to read his reactions. She had never been amazing at understanding people, but she knew that she needed to do this right. She needed to make him understand what she had done wrong, and what she regretted. Even more so than she had that night in his car, when she had confessed her feelings.

This time, she needed to do it right. Because it needed to work out.

And no matter how much she wanted to... she couldn't _actually_ tell him it all. She just had to make him understand. Because she hadn't been lying earlier. She couldn't have this turning into a full relationship. Not right now, with so much going on. She needed them both to have some time to catch up with who they were in the wake of the divorce... and then she was going to be ready.

If she did this correctly... he would be waiting for her.

"I should never have said no," she began carefully.

His mouth opened, and his eyes softened, lines crinkling at their corners. "I shouldn't have let you get away with it," he countered gently, leaning forward.

"No," she argued, shaking her head, "I turned you down, Booth. And... you did what you should have and respected my choice."

"But it wasn't your choice," he pointed out, "You did it... because you were protecting me. And I wasn't listening closely enough that night. I didn't say what I should have... because what I should have told you, was that I didn't need protection. Not from you. Never from you. What I've always _needed_, really, _was_ you."

She felt the color rise in her face.

"Could you not do that?" she asked softly.

"What?"

"Defend me. I was wrong, Booth. And I just... you can't _deny_ that I hurt you."

He hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded. "Alright. Yeah, it hurt. It hurt a lot. And... it's been hurting, for a long time. Seeing you with someone else... trying to be happy for you... it hasn't been easy."

Her chest constricted around her heart, but she nodded sharply. "Thank you," she whispered. His honesty was what she needed, and she was glad that he had given it to her. Regardless of how much it hurt to hear the words. Because it felt better, at the same time.

"I know I hurt you, too, though," he said, before she could go on with her own apology.

"What?" she found herself saying, a frown drawing her eyebrows together.

"When I abandoned you, after we got back from our time overseas."

"You didn't—"

"Don't do that. Don't tell me to be honest and then lie to me."

She ran her tongue over her lips. "Fine. Yes, it was... unpleasant to see you with Hannah."

He nodded.

They fell into silence, and she realized that the discussion was over. Maybe she had intended to say more, and maybe he had as well... but whatever had just happened, it was over now. Enough for one day, probably. These were things that they hadn't been able to face down for over seven years.

She already felt drained from just the few admissions that had been shared.

"Thanks again. For letting me stay," she said softly, officially changing the subject.

"Of course," he repeated. "You're always welcome here... Bones."

Her gaze shot upwards to meet his, and she snapped her gaping mouth shut. They both stared at each other for a moment, and there was something different in his dark eyes. Something like defiance, as if he had just thrown out the rulebook.

This time, there was no slip of the tongue. He had deliberately called her by her old nickname. And it occurred to her, in a breathtaking rush, that he had reopened a door just now. A door that had been shut for years, and had only barely cracked itself open again in the past month.

And now the sunlight was pouring through, unrestrained, and the world was breaking down the walls and re-inhabiting the dust-covered space.

She broke into a disbelieving smile, and he followed suit, until they were both just laughing together over the pure ridiculousness of the moment, and the seriousness faded away into utter relief.

He had called her Bones.

He _was_ calling her Bones.

She felt like gravity had just disappeared, and for once she wasn't lost. She was floating and loving the feeling of it. Like that time when the two of them had gone up in the Vomit Comet together, and she had wished to do it again. That was what this feeling was like.

A million memories glimmered at the edge of her mind, ready to be re-accessed, but she pushed them away for now. This was the second chance she had never thought she was going to get. Still grinning like a fool, she wrapped her arms around her tucked-up legs and leaned back into the armrest behind her, letting her hair fall freely over her shoulders.

"How about we get Thai tomorrow night?" she said, tilting her head to the side as she broke the question.

If it was possible, his smile got wider. "Sounds like a plan. Hey, how about we watch a movie or something, while Parker is gone? I had a list going, years ago, of movies that I needed to make you watch with me someday. I think I still have it here somewhere..." He stood up and went across to the cabinet, digging through the DVD collection and finally extracting a faded sheet of paper. "Ah ha," he said triumphantly, waving it over his head.

She reached out a hand for it. "Let me see."

"Uh-uh," he teased, holding it out of her grasp as he settled back into his place on the couch.

"Booth, I might have seen some of those, though. We should check them off," she insisted, raising an eyebrow challengingly. When he still didn't turn it so she could see, she slid forward on the couch and firmly settled herself in the crook between his body and the back of the couch. "Jaws?" she questioned, wrinkling her nose. "Really, Booth?"

"Hey, it is a classic. No matter how bad the effects are."

"Or how unrealistic it is?" she tossed in.

"So you've seen it?" he asked curiously.

"Parts of it. I wasn't impressed."

"Of course not," he muttered. "How about _2001: A Space Odyssey_?"

"I don't think I've heard of that one."

He made a sound in the back of his throat, a familiar noise of disbelief and amazement mixed into one. "That's staying on the list," he said firmly.

"What's this one?" she asked, pointing to a movie in the middle of the list, whose title had caught her eye.

"Pirates of the Caribbean?"

"Is that some sort of documentary?"

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again, thinking. "If I say it is, will you watch it with me?"

"That depends. Because it seems to me that if you are asking that question... then you must be planning on lying about it."

"How about if you just trust my judgment in movies when I say that you'll like it? Lot's of action, some mystery... and a lot of unrealistic sci-fi stuff that you can analyze to pieces."

"Put it in," she said with a long-suffering, over-exaggerated sigh.

"Yes," he hissed, gleefully hopping up again and going to once more rifle through the DVDs in his cabinet. His enthusiasm reminded her of her son's, and she fought down the wave of pain that washed through her at the thought. She remembered the collection of her son's favorite movies that she had in her own living room, and how they used to sit and watch them together. She remembered actually enjoying many of the animated ones, and singing along when her son insisted that she join in.

As Booth returned to the couch, his smile faded somewhat, and he seated himself directly beside her, his attention staying on her face rather than turning towards the screen.

"You okay?" he asked carefully.

"Fine," she said, her voice shaky despite her best efforts.

He nodded, glancing away. And then, as if giving in to his instincts, he suddenly reached an arm up and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her gently into his side and giving a cautious squeeze of reassurance. She let her head fall onto his shoulder gratefully.

"It's going to be okay, Bones," he murmured. "We'll get through this."

She nodded into him as the previews started to play on the widescreen.

But even spending time here with him, even seeing her future looking brighter with him in it... didn't take away the ache she was feeling. And she knew, as the movie played and she found herself enjoying it despite herself... that she wasn't going to be able to stay here with him.

She wanted to, and she knew that she had resolved to stop running...

But this wasn't running. Not in the same sense as it had been in the past.

She would go stay with her father for a while, at his new place up in New Hampshire. He had been asking her to visit for ages now, and his insistence had only increased since she had told him about the divorce. It had already been on her mind before she had come here tonight.

This was a good thing. Booth understood what she wanted, that she had made a mistake before and didn't intend to make it again. And when she explained it to him, she would make sure he understood that she was leaving for a week or so, just to get grounded again and give them both the time they needed.

Then, when she returned... that second chance would be waiting for her. And she could start moving forward once again, on the path she should have taken in the first place.

**I still don't want to think about how confused you all must have been, if you read the other chapter before this one. There's so much that happens in this one that is VITAL for that next one. So... I hope this cleared that up for you all. *winces***


	21. Make This Go On Forever

**A/N: Special thanks to everyone who pointed out to me that this was in the wrong place. I wish I'd realized that sooner. Now everything should make perfect sense, and if you haven't read the _correct_ chapter 19 yet... please do that. **

**Alright, I think you will all enjoy this chapter. Just... understand that the thing that is going to upset you is totally and completely necessary. I promise. And... we are not in the clear yet. There's still plenty of angst yet to come. Song for this one is Make This Go On Forever by Snow Patrol. If you haven't looked up a single song from this story... then I'm telling you to look up this one. It's beyond addicting, and typing to it is just... heaven. It really is. Can't get enough. **

_Chapter 20: Make This Go On Forever_

_Please don't let this turn into something it's not  
I can only give you everything I've got  
I can't be as sorry as you think I should  
But I still love you more than anyone else could_

_All that I keep thinking throughout this whole flight_  
_Is it could take my whole damn life to make this right_  
_This splintered mast I'm holding on won't save me long_  
_Because I know fine well that what I did was wrong_

_The last girl and the last reason to make this last for as long as I could_  
_First kiss and the first time that I felt connected to anything_  
_The weight of water, the way you told me to look past everything I had ever learned_  
_The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was love_

_We have got through so much worse than this before_  
_What's so different this time that you can't ignore_  
_You say it is much more than just my last mistake_  
_And we should spend some time apart for both our sakes_

_July 2__nd__, 2018_

When her eyes slowly drifted open, the first thing Brennan became aware of was the fact that something smelled delicious. Pancakes, she identified as she groggily pushed herself up into a sitting position and observed her surroundings. The past few weeks rushed back as she was forced to accept the fact that she was indeed crashed on the fold-out couch in the middle of Booth's living room.

Now this was not a picture she had ever envisioned.

"Morning," Parker said casually as he roamed into the room, nodding to her and biting into a piece of toast. "Can I..?" he pointed to the television.

"Oh, of course!" she said at once, waving him forward and rummaging her hand over to the end table to get the remote. She tossed it to him, and he caught it easily, flipping it in his hand and pressing the power button. The screen lit up, and he dropped heavily into the armchair, still chewing.

"Dad's making breakfast," he stated obviously.

She nodded, and then glanced quickly at him before she tried to inconspicuously sort out the tangled mess of hair on her head. She realized she must look like a disaster in her baggy pajama pants and t-shirt with no makeup or anything. She didn't want to imagine what she would look like once she got herself to the bathroom to check in the mirror, and while she didn't consider herself to be a vain person... she was still aware of it.

With that thought in mind, she scooted to the side of the bed and slid off, the soles of her feet hitting the soft carpet warmly. She was used to finding cold hardwood, and it was a nice difference.

"I'm just going to..." she trailed off as Parker waved understandingly, taking another large bite of his toast.

She could hardly put on makeup or hop in the shower to improve her appearance, so she settled for running a comb through her hair and fixing her nightwear as best as she could. Her belongings were out in the other room, so maybe she could just go grab something decent for the day, and get changed...

"Bones?" Booth's voice called, his footsteps coming down the hallway towards her. She had to admit, she was already getting used to the return of her nickname. And she enjoying it far more than she planned to admit. At simply the sound, a warm smile spread across her face, and she just stared contentedly at her own reflection for a long moment before the sharp rapping on the doorframe brought her back to reality. "Bones?" he repeated.

She gave her hair one last once-over, and then turned and opened the door.

Booth's hand was poised to knock again, and it stayed there for another second before quickly dropping. "Hey," he said, a tentative twinkle in his eyes. "...How about some breakfast?"

She couldn't help but grin back. "It smells delicious," she informed him as she stepped back out into the hallway, leading the way.

"Aw, you can smell that?" he asked teasingly. "There goes my surprise..."

She laughed and bumped him in the shoulder.

"Save some for me!" Parker called, pushing himself out of the chair and following suit as they all gathered in the kitchen. Booth dug in the cabinets, pulling out three actual plates—not the paper he seemed to be living by—and passed them out. An oversized stack of pancakes sat on a dish in the center of the table, and even from her position she could see he had taken the time to make different kinds. The ones on top looked like blueberry, and she could distinctly smell chocolate and see the smearing from bananas on the large frying plate he had used.

"You didn't have to do this," she said softly as Parker occupied himself with the search for orange juice in the fridge.

"I wanted to," he assured gently. "Besides... I was up early, and I had nothing to do. I figured you might like something to eat."

"Still," she said, her eyebrows raised as she again glanced at the ridiculous amount of food on the table. "It's a lot." When he again shrugged her off, she bit her lip and glanced down at her dish, taking the orange juice carton from Parker and filling her own glass in the following silence. She wanted to thank him, but he was already speaking by the time she had worked up the voice to say it.

"So, any plans for today?"

"Actually," she said, chewing her bottom lip for a moment and stalling, "I was heading over the Jeffersonian. I have... asked for my position back, in some capacity at least. I just... I don't think I..." she sighed and started over. "I need something to keep me occupied, Booth."

"I get it," he assured. "And... I'm glad. That you're going back to work." He grinned crookedly. "To be honest, I didn't think they were going to be able to cope without you..."

She raised an eyebrow. "They are perfectly capable. After all... I kept them in line for years."

He laughed. "Cute, Bones. The sad part is... most of them would probably have to agree with you on that. Even Cam knows that she wasn't the real boss in that lab."

"Yeah, well... we were always the center."

"That we were," he agreed softly.

Parker pulled out a chair from the table, and it scraped loudly across the floor, making her jump slightly. Booth smirked, and she punched his shoulder in light indignation, sweeping past to claim herself a spot next to the teenager.

"Hungry?" he teased as she piled three pancakes onto her dish, leaning across to claim the maple syrup.

"Maybe," she said with a shrug. "Although I haven't tasted it yet, so I'm not sure how long my appetite will last."

He took in her raised eyebrow and quirked smile. "Cold, Bones. That was very cold."

"Hey, you're the one who picks on your own cooking all the time." She cut a piece off of the top pancake and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully and then letting out a soft sound of disbelief. "These are some form of take-out, aren't they? Delivery pancakes?"

"Nope," he gloated. "Made them myself. From _scratch_."

"Yeah right," she scoffed, taking another large bite and groaning in amazement. He'd somehow gotten them to taste buttery in addition to having a slight, warm crunch. Unbelievable. Damn him and his unrelenting talents. Was there really anything he _couldn't_ do?

"Want to see my recipe?" he challenged, pushing away from the table as though to actually fetch it for her to validate.

"No, the disaster over there is proof enough," she assured, nodding towards the flour-coated counters and the overflow of dirty dishes and pans in the sink. To give him some credit, though, most of them seemed to have been from the past week. Although, if she pointed that out, it would hardly sound like a compliment. His kitchen was in need of some major readjustment.

Maybe she could help him with that, with cleaning up and keeping track of things...

But then the reality crashed down again, and reminded her that she was planning on booking a flight today, when she got to the lab. And she hadn't told Booth yet.

He would be fine with it, though, she assured herself for what must have been the hundredth time since last night. She needed to spend some time outside of DC. She needed to reconnect with her father. And she needed to give Booth the opening, to let him know what she wanted for them... so that when she came back, he could make the right decision. She didn't want him going along with her wishes just because he wanted to agree with her and make her happy. She wanted him to do it for so many more reasons than that. A week away would do that, for both of them.

He would understand.

He would.

Now, if only she could make herself tell him.

"Hey, I cooked. Which means Parker cleans."

Parker gaped at him indignantly, and Brennan cut in, "I'll help, obviously."

"You're our guest," Booth protested.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean anything. I should be able to help out if I want to. I'm not incompetent just because this isn't my own home."

"But—"

A sharp knocking on the door interrupted their debate, and the three of them glanced from face to face, confusion evident all around.

"I'll get it," Parker said at last, still frowning as he set down his fork and pushed out his chair.

Booth craned back in his seat to watch around the corner as Parker headed to the door.

"Who is it?" Brennan asked curiously, her position not giving her any visuals.

Booth let his chair drop back down as he turned back to face her, picking up his fork. He smiled, but declined to answer with a shake of his head. Her frown deepened.

But then Parker came back around the corner, leading a girl about his age, with dark brown hair and dainty glasses perched on her nose. A smatter of freckles fell across her nose, and she had vibrant blue eyes.

"Oh, you already have company," she said as her gaze landed on Brennan with surprise. "I'm sorry."

"Clara, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan. Bones, this is Clara Hayes—my girlfriend."

"Oh!" Brennan said, realization dawning as she made the connection. This was the same girl who had been planning to go to England for the summer. If that was the case, though, she shouldn't be back by now. "Nice to meet you," she reached out and they shook hands briefly. Her gaze, though, strayed to Parker, hoping for an explanation. She didn't want to assume that Clara had been to England if she had not, and she didn't want to bring it up if it was a taboo subject for the couple.

"Clara just got back from her trip abroad," Parker filled in, reading her questioning gaze correctly. "She came home early," he added, grinning.

The girl shrugged. "I learned a lot, but it wasn't the same. And... I'm glad to be home."

"Grab a seat," Booth said warmly, gesturing to the open chairs.

"Oh no, that's—"

"Please, I made more than enough," Booth insisted.

"I was just... oh, alright," she sighed, her mouth twitching up at the corners. Parker grinned as he pulled out her chair for her. She glared, apparently offended by the implication that she couldn't have done so for herself, but she was still smiling as she settled in. A plate put in front of her, she hesitantly took a banana and walnut pancake for herself.

"Do you two have plans for today?" Brennan asked, dabbing at her syrup-sticky lips with her napkin.

"I was actually dropping by to surprise Parker," she said, glancing at her boyfriend. "I only just got back. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

If it was possible, his grin got wider. She suddenly saw a lot of his father in him. And a lot of the way Parker was looking at Clara... reminded her of the way Booth had always looked at her. A twist pulled at her gut, a mixture between warmth and pain.

She fully intended to move forward with Booth. But still, she couldn't help but be terrified of hurting him. And knowing just how much he cared for her made her all the more conscious of how capable she was of causing him pain... while at the same time it made her feel like she was floating on air.

It was a risk she was going to have to take. Angela was right, about everything.

"What?" Booth said suddenly, tilting his head to the side and studying her.

"Huh?" she frowned, her attention returning to the conversation she hadn't been listening to.

"Nothing, you were just... looking at me funny."

"Oh." She felt her face flush. "I just... spaced out for a second."

He nodded thoughtfully, still frowning slightly for a moment, but then he shrugged it off. He turned back to Parker. "So, did you look into buying some used books for the upcoming year yet?"

She zoned out the rest of the talk, her attention returning to her previous internalization. She wasn't going to tell him just yet. Maybe... later tonight, if she found the opening. It was just... hard. Knowing that he would probably be disappointed. She wished there was a way for him to read her mind, so he would know her intentions to be pure and with his interests at the very top of her priority list.

Eventually they all slowed and stopped taking bites. There was still a large stack of pancakes on the table, and Booth covered them with some clear plastic wrap and slid them into the fridge, starting to gather up the plates. Brennan stood to help, with Clara quickly following suit, but Parker took over, and the two men busied themselves with the clean-up process.

Clara made a slight sound of disapproval from the back of her throat, and Brennan glanced at her with understanding in her eyes.

"We've got it," Booth insisted as she stepped forward again.

Scowling, she nudged him out of the way and planted herself firmly in front of the sink, giving him a warning glare and taking up a station with the dishcloth to begin scrubbing at the pans.

Parker and Clara engaged in their own private war a short distance away, while Booth finally gave up and began to work in tandem with her, drying each cooking utensil that she passed his way, one after the other.

It felt very... domestic. She tried to remember the last time she had done this with James, and couldn't come up with anything. She had always done the dishes herself, right after Nick was tucked into bed and drifting off. Some nights, he would come down while she was scrubbing the suds into a particularly persistent stain, looking for a glass of water. And when he didn't look interested in returning to his room, she would let him stay for a few extra minutes, giving him small tasks to do to keep him engaged. He had always loved helping her, whether it was with the cooking, the cleaning, or the other daily chores that she went through after returning from work.

Those, though, had been the good days. The days before things had begun to turn cold, when she had started avoiding James and he the same of her.

It killed her to think that, right now, James was the one bonding with their son and captivating his attention. Drawing her further away.

She wouldn't get to have her son with her again until the fourteenth.

The idea of getting him for a single weekend and then having to wait another two weeks for more time... was a raw agony in her chest.

"What's the matter?" Booth asked tentatively, bumping her shoulder with his to get her to turn towards him. He had clearly seen the change in her demeanor.

"How did you handle it?" she asked helplessly. When he gave her a quizzical look, she clarified, "Not getting to see your son whenever you wanted to?"

Realization dawned across his features, and he licked his lips, pausing.

"It wasn't easy," he said at last, his eyes flicking past her to land on his son, who was now engaged in a suds war with his girlfriend that ranged across the kitchen. "But after awhile... you start to really treasure the time that you do get. And despite what you might think, being the parent that your son doesn't get to see doesn't make you the bad guy. It makes you the cool parent. James... he'll be the bad guy, for making Nick leave you at the end of your weekend. Trust me, Rebecca chewed me out for it more times than I care to remember, and it wasn't really my fault. I was just making the absolute best of my time... which meant Parker always had a really great time with me."

"Every other weekend, though..."

"I know it doesn't sound like much," he said gently, stepping closer to her. "But Bones... it will get better. I promise. And you _will_ get that appeal. That, and sometimes... things change when you aren't even expecting it. Remember when Parker asked to move in with me?"

Brennan nodded. How could she forget that day? Booth had never been so happy as when he was spreading the news to anyone that would listen.

"Just... remember that this is all temporary."

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes wide and filled with sincerity to match the tone of her voice.

His eyes twinkled back at her. "No problem."

He offered to drive her to work, but she declined, insisting that she would be fine on her own. In reality, she was struggling with whether or not she'd be safer if she was with him. If she was accompanied, she'd be much less tempted to swing by her old house to just look in.

But in the end, she managed to get to the lab with no detours, and she ran into Angela as she was shutting her door and swinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Sweetie!" Angela gushed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness..."

"Ange, you knew where I was," Brennan said as Angela enveloped her in a firm hug.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I wasn't still worried about you. I'm just... really glad to see you again. And back here, no less!"

"Right now I'm just helping out. My office was cleared out, if you remember. And I don't have any official ID, or any ranking. Officially, I am currently a consultant."

Angela snorted dismissively. "And if anyone actually abides by that, I'll be amazed. Come on, let's head inside. Everyone is going to be thrilled to see you!"

Ruefully, she ducked her head and allowed herself to be practically dragged to the elevators. At first, she was concerned about the reactions of her coworkers. She remembered the awkward eye-contact and the whispers... but that wasn't what she found this time, when she and Angela stepped through the sliding doors.

Scientists walking by slowed, but they smiled, and a few that she recognized waved in greeting.

"Dr. B!" Hodgins called from the platform, beaming hugely with his blue eyes gleaming.

Cam appeared from her office, reaching them first. "Welcome back," she said warmly, and then hesitated, as if wondering whether to go for a handshake or a hug. Brennan solved the problem for her, stepping forward and embracing her briefly.

"Great to have you back," Harper said warmly, shaking his mentor's hand.

"You're computer is still in your office, and Angela took the liberty of relocating some of your old furniture... it might make it feel more like home while we get everything sorted out."

"I... thank you," Brennan stammered, glancing between all of their smiling faces and feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Cam shooed them all away, giving Angela a coaxing raised-eyebrow look to send her on her way as well. The artist hesitated, but then gave Brennan's arm a quick squeeze and departed as well, glancing over her shoulder and making it known that Brennan was to come by her office if she wanted to talk about anything.

"There's just a bit of paperwork that's needs filling out, but most everyone is aware that you have returned to the field. I just left the forms that need signatures on your desk..." she nodded towards the office, which was dark at the moment.

"Thank you, again," Brennan said sincerely. She felt more comfortable addressing this without the rest of the team gathered around. "I... appreciate that you made this all work out."

"Brennan... there was a time when I wasn't sure if we would be able to work together, when I was sure I would be firing you. But that time passed ages ago, and I figured out a lot of things since then. One of them happens to be that you are essential here. As both a colleague and a friend. I was more than pleased to pull the necessary strings. You could call it relieved, actually."

Brennan laughed. "Still. Thank you."

"Just don't go quitting again. Please."

"I won't," she promised, chuckling lightly. "I'm here to stay."

"Alright. I'll leave you to it, then. We don't have any cases right now, but Limbo is still full as ever. Harper and the others have an interesting one up on the table. I'm sure they'd like you to take a look once you're finished in your office. And I'll have a new ID card for you by tomorrow at the latest."

"That's not necessary," Brennan assured, suddenly concerned. "We, uh... discussed my plans?"

"Right, right. You aren't 'officially' back until the sixteenth. But you're ID will still be yours. Better to get it to you sooner than later."

Brennan nodded, understanding the logic, and turned to head for her office.

It was strange, being back when she had been so sure that she was closing this chapter of her life permanently only a short while ago. The office itself, when she flicked on the lights, looked like her old office. But it was off, like she was staring at a reflection rather than the real thing. It didn't feel like it belonged to her.

But regardless, she pushed forward and settled into her chair, which was luckily the same, along with her desk and computer. She watched the screen slowly come to life, tapping her fingers beside the keyboard and running her tongue over the tops of her teeth slowly.

The familiar login screen arrived, and she used her old password, which Cam had assured her was still in effect. Immediately, her familiar desktop snapped to life, and she smiled sadly at the picture of her and her son before hastily clicking for her email account.

She scanned through and immediately decided that—for the time being—she was going to ignore all of those that enquired about her departure from anthropology. Fellow doctorates, people she had met on digs abroad, old friends... she scanned and then quickly dismissed the idea of looking at even a single one of them. They all knew why; they didn't need her to explain it to them. It had been all over the papers, all over the news.

Thankfully, the news crews had packed up their gig by now. No longer was there a mob of reporters gathered outside the Jeffersonian for her to fight her way through. It was a relief, to say the least. She had never been a fan of being in any sort of spotlight, and had abhorred all the publicity stunts her publisher had demanded she go through.

Speaking of which, there was an email from her agent that was marked 'urgent!'

Sighing heavily, she clicked it open, knowing that this was one message she could not procrastinate about.

_Temperance, I'm hearing a lot of conflicting stories about what is going on. If you could confirm that you did indeed leave your other career, then we'll need to discuss new arrangements. For one, I'm sure this will get us a more fast-paced contract. I'm eager to work out the details._

_ Also, you'll be happy to hear that sales are up. Very far up, actually. _

_ Hope you are well. I expect to hear from you soon._

_ ~Tania_

Typical, really. While she appreciated the straight-forward attitude her agent always had, and her no-nonsense demeanor... it would have been nice if the other woman had left out the fact that sales were up. No matter how much she told her that the money didn't matter, Tania continued to feed her updates as if it would spike her interest eventually.

All it did in this case, though, was act as a punch in the stomach. Of course sales were up. She was in the middle of a scandal... people were curious.

It left her feeling hollow, knowing that the latest wave of readers was interested solely because she was 'that writer woman whose rich husband cheated on her.'

Why couldn't this have been one of those stories that faded away and no one remembered it? Why did it have to be one of those things that the viewers invested themselves in? Why did people have to take an interest at all? Why did they have to choose sides and discuss it avidly, and read every damn article that was printed?

Why couldn't she walk down the street without seeing her own face on the front of a newspaper?

She hadn't even thought herself to be very well known, but the scandal... it was changing her opinion on that, very quickly.

There was another, older, email from her agent as well, and she reluctantly clicked that one as well.

A request to make an appearance on some talk show, to discuss what had happened. She gave an indignant huff to herself at the very idea, grinding her teeth together as her eyes blazed. Was nothing private? Did they really, truly expect her to make an appearance so that _they_ could profit from it?

Her own publishers were no better than the reporters that had chased her so eagerly.

Pursing her lips, she closed out the emails, deciding that none of them deserved her response. Instead, she purposefully moved forward with her other intent, and began searching for a flight to New Hampshire.

Her father was currently residing in Wolfeboro, at a lake house by Lake Winnipesaukee. She had wisely not asked him how he had afforded it, or who had helped him with the sale. After getting to know him again, she had learned that it was better to not know, and to just take things as they were.

She shot him a quick email to ask if he would mind her company—which she knew would get a very excited response—and then continued her search for a decent flight from Dulles to Manchester.

It was around an hour's drive to the lake house, she knew, and she looked into rental cars as well. At least, until her email announced a new message no more than five minutes later. As expected, her father was thrilled with the prospect of a visit, and informed her that she was to stay as long as she wanted, as well as that he would be there to pick her up at the airport.

She sent a message back to let him know that she would tell him as soon as she had a date and time for her arrival, and then bit her lip as she re-assessed all the possibilities she had opened.

Hesitating for only the briefest of moments, she finally booked herself a seat on a flight leaving in the afternoon on the fourth and arriving that night, claiming her typical first class spot. She hadn't been flying in a while, she realized. The six hours in the air were not exactly ones she was looking forward to. While first class gained her the perks and the relaxation... there was always a sort of hassle about airports in general. And she would have to switch planes in Chicago, as well. It was the chaos that she disliked, not the flying itself. Conservatively, she vowed to bring only what she could carry on the flight with her. The very last thing she wanted to deal with would be baggage collection. Especially since she had lived through several 'lost luggage' scenarios in the past.

She might not be a conspiracy theorist herself, but Hodgins had made a lot of sense that time when he had explained to them all—while mildly drunk at the annual Christmas party—what really happened to luggage that went missing.

She had just sent the information to her father when Angela knocked lightly on the doorframe, stepping in. "Hey, sweetie," she said, flashing a smile. "You settling back in okay?"

"Yeah," she answered with a shrug.

"You look tired," Angela commented with a raised eyebrow, settling herself down on the couch.

Again, Brennan just shrugged, her eyes flicking to the computer screen as it once more announced that she had a new email. She hurriedly began to minimize all her open windows, but before she even noticed Angela was out of her seat, the artist's hand landed on top of hers and stopped her.

She bit her lip, feeling Angela stiffen as her eyes scanned over the page that had last appeared on the screen. It was the confirmation of her flight, the one she still needed to print out.

"Bren," Angela's voice was low and it rasped slightly with what could only be fear. Her eyelids shuddered and squeezed tight together, not wanting to face her friend. "What is this?"

She turned her chair, and Angela released her hand, moving back a pace so that she could maneuver and put them face-to-face.

"I'm going up north," she said, stating the obvious. "To stay with my father. For a little while."

Angela nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to the screen again. Brennan knew without a doubt that she was checking the return date. Slowly, the artist nodded.

"You haven't told Booth?" she guessed.

Brennan rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, and then shook her head. "Not yet," she murmured softly.

Angela sighed and tilted her head back. "When are you going to tell him? I mean... this says that you're leaving at two o'clock on the Fourth of July. That's in two days, Bren."

"I know," she answered heavily. "And I'm going to tell him. I just... don't want to disappoint him. And he's been... so nice about me staying with him."

"Of course he is," Angela scoffed. "He's downright thrilled that you asked him. Just... tell me _why_ you're going to see your dad. Please?"

"I need a little more time, Ange. Just... some distance, for a little while. And that way... I can start over, when I get back. I just... I can't dive straight into something new. Not right now, so soon after."

Angela was nodding her agreement before Brennan even finished.

"He'll understand," she said at once, firmly. "And... when you get back, I know you'll both have figured it all out."

"I'm not so sure," Brennan answered with a sigh. "But... I really hope so, Ange. I really do."

Ange offered a soft, sad little smile, and squeezed her hand in reassurance before leaving her by herself once again, rightfully sensing that Brennan wanted to be alone, for now at least.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She awoke with a sudden jerk, sitting bolt upright and gasping, her eyes sweeping the living room of Booth's apartment rapidly before she leaned back against the pillows to catch her breath. The clock on the wall read just past midnight; she had barely gotten any sleep.

It had been years since the old nightmares had claimed her. And for the longest time, she thought she had vanquished them permanently. But it turned out that they still existed, just waiting for opportunities like this so they could sweep through and take over once again.

_ Running but never catching up as Booth walked ahead of her, disappearing further and further into the mist that surrounded them until she couldn't see him, and she was spinning in circles, unsure of where she was or which direction she had come from. And then voices whispered in the trees that materialized like the bars of a great cage around her, the voices of her friends, her family, and the words were barely there. But they were harsh, and dark, and they were pulling away. _

_ The silence was almost worse, before the ground gave way, and she was staring up from the depths as she fell. Shadowy figures gathered around above, forming a circle. And as she screamed, the air rushing past her, she recognized each and every one of their faces to be all those that she knew. And then they stepped away, leaving a small few. _

_ Howard Epps... Kenton... The Gravedigger... James._

_ And then all was dark. And all she could feel was the gravity tearing her downwards._

She shivered, unable to shake the feeling of those eyes glaring down upon her, watching her decent towards inevitable death.

"Bones?" she jumped, and craned her neck to find Booth standing in the hallway opening, brow furrowed and wearing only a pair of baggy sweatpants.

She opened her mouth and then shut it again, face reddening. She knew, without asking, that she must not have been silent. He had to have heard something to wake him up. A moment later, he confirmed it.

"I heard a... scream," he said hesitantly, letting his arm fall from where he had propped it to lean against the wall. He stepped into the room. "Are you... are you okay?"

She bit her lip, and then sighed heavily. "No, not really."

"What were you dreaming about?" he asked carefully, gently seating himself on the edge of the chair nearest to her fold-out bed.

She was grateful that he didn't make the full-out assumption that it was a nightmare. Even though it was incredibly obvious.

But she shook her head, not entirely sure she wanted to share the details.

He nodded in understanding, and she felt a wave of relief swiftly followed by a surge of guilt. He read the change on her face immediately, and he leaned forward.

"Hey," he said gently, "What's wrong, huh? I know it's something."

She had been unable to tell him last night, just like the night before it, that she was leaving soon. And now, he was being so sweet and caring, so devoted to making her happy when all she had ever caused him was pain, and here she was. Ready to hurt him again.

She couldn't handle it.

Pushing herself up, she shoved off the covers and climbed off of the bed, going to her bag. She could feel Booth's eyes on her, watching quizzically. He didn't understand, and she wished she didn't have to explain. But the ticket would do that for her, and she handed it over, seating herself back on the edge of the mattress.

He stared at it for a long moment, uncomprehending, and then raised his eyes to meet hers, a fearful realization starting to form across his features.

"Bones," he asked tightly, "What is this?"

"A plane ticket," she answered him, but at his narrowed look, she knew he needed a real answer, and she sighed. "I'm... leaving. Tomorrow, to visit my dad in New Hampshire."

"I... I see that," he said, scanning the ticket again quickly before his eyes returned to meet hers. "But... why? Did... did I say something, are you..?"

"I'm not running," she assured, finishing the question for him with her answer. "I promise, Booth. That is... that is not what I'm doing. And I'm coming back, on the thirteenth." She pointed out the information, and he nodded numbly, staring at it. "I'm leaving... partly to see my dad."

"And the other part?"

She chewed her lip for a moment, thinking over her words and knowing that she had to say the right thing. "The other part... is because I want something. With us. Between us."

His eyes widened, and his frown vanished in favor of pure astonishment.

"I can't start something right now," she hurried onwards, "Not with what just happened... but I think that, if I got away from DC completely, if I gave myself the time, if _you_ had the time... then when I got back..."

"Are you seriously saying what I think you're saying?" he asked, his voice hushed as he leaned forward, his gaze earnestly drawing hers in.

"I... yes, I think so," she stammered, not sure exactly what his question meant. But she was pretty sure he was interpreting her correctly.

But a moment later, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers sliding through his thick hair as he let out a heavy sigh. Her heart dropped, but then he was up and looking at her again, and he was smiling.

A slow smile spread across her face as well, her heart still racing frantically.

"You're asking me to let you go away for a week... so I can have you for a lifetime?" again, he shook his head. "No contest, Bones. I will see you on the thirteenth. And... I hope you have a good time with your dad."

She stared at him, blinking a couple of times and trying to grasp what had just happened. Could it possibly have been that easy? Had he really taken it the way she had been praying he would, without any pain, without any confusion?

Her grin widened, and she laughed, the sound releasing all the weight that had been in her chest and on her shoulders.

He laughed with her, then, and they just grinned across the small gap between them until he edged forward almost subconsciously, eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips, and she felt her heart quicken again before she pushed herself forward and closed the final distance.

Their lips crashed together, and she moaned softly. He tasted exactly as she remembered; it was not something she had ever managed to forget, through all the years. He leaned closer, his hand sliding up her arm and finding the back of her neck. His hand cupped around it perfectly, and she found her own arms lifting to wrap effortlessly around his neck.

He crushed her to his chest, and the warmth of the embrace overwhelmed her as she pulled away for a second, gasping for air. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, seeing the glowing amazement reflecting back at her, and then she leaned back in to recapture his lips with her own.

Barely realizing what she was doing, memories and emotions tumbling over and all rational thought disappearing in the heat of the moment, her fingers fumbled blindly for the hem of her tank top, to pull it over her head. She didn't care that she had just said she wasn't ready to start anything. All she cared about was the fact that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, and he wanted her forever just as she wanted him.

Nothing could have outdone that.

The last realistic thought she had was to remember that Parker had gone to a late movie and likely wouldn't be back for several hours.

But Booth stopped her, his larger hands gently seizing her wrists and holding them in place. She raised her eyes to meet his with a fearful question swimming in them. He answered it by sweeping her up in his arms, capturing her lips again, and half-carrying her with him as they swept their way down the hallway and back to his bedroom.

**This wasn't actually in the plan, to be quite honest. The Hole in the Heart may or may not have had some influence over what happened here. But... I blame Booth and Brennan. They totally ran away from me while I was writing this, and I only knew about it around a page before I got to it. Darn them for keeping me out of the loop, right? xD **

**But hey, I hope you are all happy. Let me know your thoughts!  
**


	22. Open Your Eyes

**A/N: IMPORTANT. I accidentally put up chapter 20 (Make This Go On Forever) before chapter 19 (Just Say Yes). I fixed this issue last Saturday, but I want to make sure everyone is aware of it, so if they did not read the chapters in the correct order, they can go back and do that now. Thank you.**

**This is also why I did not update last Tuesday-because technically you got a new chapter on that Saturday. I will now return to updating every Tuesday as I normally do.  
**

**Song for this one is Open Your Eyes by Snow Patrol. I love Snow Patrol, in case you haven't noticed yet.**_  
_

_Chapter 21: Open Your Eyes_

_Get up, get out, get away from these liars  
'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire  
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine  
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time_

_Every minute from this minute now_  
_We can do what we like anywhere_  
_I want so much to open your eyes_  
_'Cause I need you to look into mine_

_July 4__th__, 2018_

For most of Tuesday, Booth had lived in a fog of disbelief. When he had awakened, he'd been certain that it had all been a very vivid dream. Until, of course, the moment he had realized there was a sleeping Brennan curled into his side, breathing peacefully with her hair tangled around her face.

Barely daring to move, he had replayed the night before in his head with unrelenting amazement, hardly daring to believe that it had actually happened. The evidence, though, was overwhelming.

Now, as he cut watermelon while he watched her making sandwiches for their Fourth of July picnic lunch, he was still having a hard time grasping the truth of it. Brennan seemed to feel the same way, because she hadn't brought it up anymore than he had, and they had stayed in their respective rooms the night before.

She was still going to New Hampshire, insisting that Max needed the visit as well as pointing out that she thought they could both do with the week of distance to catch up to speed with themselves. It would appear that he wasn't the only one living in a very light-headed state of shock.

Somehow, though, that fact didn't bother him nearly as much as he would have thought it might. Brennan leaving had never felt like a good concept... and yet, here she was spending her last day with him, and he was feeling all the luckier for it. Because she was coming back to be with him. Truly and fully _with_ him. And he had never been happier in his life.

"When is Clara arriving?" Brennan asked curiously, glancing up from her task, a knife covered in peanut butter hanging loosely from her hand.

"Within the hour," he answered loosely, with a shrug. The teenagers hadn't been specific; they had gone out to get breakfast with a group of friends from the university, and had said they'd be back 'eventually.' At the time, Booth had just waved them off and gone back to what he was doing. Now he regretted not questioning more thoroughly. With Parker, words like 'soon' and 'eventually' were synonymous with 'unpredictable.' They could show up within the next five minutes, or arrive three hours late to the picnic itself. If he was lucky, they _might_ call and let him know.

"I can't imagine Nick going to college," Brennan murmured, her eyes back on the task and her shoulders slightly hunched. He rolled his tongue over his lips and carefully set his knife down, picking up a towel to clean the watermelon guts from his fingers.

"I couldn't imagine it for Parker, either," he responded, watching her levelly even as she continued to stoically avoid his gaze. She knew he was looking at her, and she was choosing to avoid making the contact. "Things change over time, Bones. You never thought you'd get married. Never thought you'd even have a child."

"Not always for the better, then," she whispered. A lock of her hair fell across her face, shielding her eyes from his view. A hasty hand reached up to swipe at them a moment later, and he drew a sharp breath before stepping forward.

"Hey, hey," he said, reaching up a hesitant hand to rest on her shoulder. She glanced up, then, more out of surprise than anything else, and met his gaze for an instant before she dropped it again. Her blue eyes were shimmering. "We've all got regrets, Bones. But... don't let this be one of them, okay? You can... you can only move forward. Aren't you the one always telling me stuff like that?"

She laughed, a short bubble from her throat, and her head shook back and forth for a moment. Her eyes still shone when she looked up at him again. "I guess I am," she murmured.

He nodded, managing a grimaced smile. "Good. Then you know it's quality advice. Now, we are going to have a great holiday together, and then I'm going to drive you to the airport and you are going to enjoy your vacation with your father. Got it?"

She opened her mouth, and then promptly closed it again, just giving one quick nod that bounced her hair on her shoulders. Then she turned her attention back to the sandwiches, and he watched her work for a moment before he picked his knife back up and returned to the melon.

"Max is excited, I'm assuming?"

"He was thrilled to hear that I'd be visiting. Not so pleased about the situation, of course... and I think he really wanted to spend some time with Nick... but we'll make do with what we've got."

"Of course. How's New Hampshire treating him?"

"Very well. With the warmer weather, Lake Winnipesaukee will be getting a lot more tourists. He's running some sort of store with an old friend of his, so the business will be good."

"I'm not going to ask any questions about it," Booth muttered.

"Neither am I," she agreed with a laugh. "I find that I prefer not to know any of his business... it's safer that way."

He couldn't blame her. Having an ex-con for a father, one who had already gotten away with murder once, could only lead to her _wanting_ to stay out of the loop. He probably would feel the same way, if he actually felt anything towards his own father besides a strong dislike. He hadn't seen the man in years, and unlike Brennan... he didn't want to see him again ever. Mystery or no mystery about his sudden disappearance from Booth's life all those years ago, it didn't make a difference.

"Do you have any plans for the holiday, once you get there?"

"He mentioned something about an annual fireworks show," she said with a shrug.

"Hey, yeah... over the water and everything... that'll be great, Bones."

"I have always rather enjoyed fireworks."

He chuckled. "Everyone loves fireworks."

"Russ didn't, when we were children. He had to wear earplugs."

"Different thing entirely," he said, waving her off.

His attention strayed as he heard a key turn in the lock, and he paused in what he was doing and glanced over his shoulder out of instinct.

"Yeah, that was great."

"And that look on his face? Priceless."

"I know, right? Alright, Dad's probably got the picnic all ready by now... Hey, Dad?"

"In the kitchen!" Booth called.

The couple entered the kitchen, and Parker slung his bag over the chair, moving to lean against the fridge. "When do we leave?"

"Well, first... you can help Bones with those sandwiches."

"Oh."

"Yeah, you aren't getting away with showing up in the eleventh hour and just joining in for the fun, bub. Get to work."

Brennan passed him the loaf of bread, and he grudgingly accepted it. Apparently, he'd been expecting a lazy holiday. No such luck.

"What can I do?" Clara asked, stepping forward.

"We're almost done," Booth assured at the same time as Brennan responded with, "We need to pack some water bottles from the fridge into the cooler."

Clara nodded and headed for the fridge, while Booth cast Brennan a look.

"What?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows together.

"Clara, you're our guest," Booth said by way of an indirect answer.

"But I want to help," she said, giving him a raised eyebrow and shaking her head as she started gathering the bottles of water from the bottom shelf into her arms. "Is there already ice in the cooler?" she questioned, her focus directed to Brennan, who she had apparently assessed as being on her side.

"Yes, I put it in a little while ago. Here, I'll get the lid for you..."

Booth sighed to himself, shaking his head and turning back to his own job; dumping the leftovers from his watermelon slicing into the trash bin. Parker hadn't been wrong when he said Clara was independent. She was quite a bit like Brennan, in fact. The way they got on, as well, seemed to suggest that they were already figuring that out for themselves. The two of them chatted as they both took over the sandwich station—barely seeming to notice they had bumped Parker from his position—and by the time they were all ready to leave, they seemed to be the best of friends despite their age difference.

Parker shared an incredulous look with his father as they hoisted the cooler into the back of the SUV while the women handled the picnic basket and the rest of their holiday supplies.

"What's going on with you and Bones?" his son was asking him a moment later, though, as they adjusted the supplies in the back while Brennan and Clara headed back inside to fetch a few more things.

"The start of something," Booth answered with a shrug, unwilling to be specific. He wasn't even sure himself, thanks to the lack of definition on their relationship. But it was something; it was most definitely _something_.

"Good," Parker said heavily as he reached up to grip the trunk and pull it down to snap shut. "Do you think she'll be moving in more permanently?"

"Actually... right now, she's going up to New Hampshire stay with her dad for a little while. And then she's probably coming back to find a place of her own."

Parker raised an eyebrow. "Alright. So it's a slow 'something,' then, I'm assuming?"

He chuckled, more to himself than for Parker's benefit, and shook his head slightly. "You know, I guess you could put it that way."

"Well, I'm happy for you," his son responded warmly. "It's about time."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Ready to go?" Brennan called from the doorway as she pulled it closed behind her. Clara bounded down the stairs, wearing her sunglasses on top of her head and clutching a box of sparklers.

"All set," Booth called in response, and she nodded and followed the younger woman down and over to the car. She flipped her own sunglasses down and onto her nose, and then climbed into the passenger seat, not even arguing for the driver's position as he had partly been expecting.

"Let's vamoose," he said eagerly, revving the engine and pulling them out onto the road.

For the past few years, he had been going with Parker to an annual picnic in the park. It was a middle-of-the-day cookout sort of event, and they had a group of people they tended to end up playing football with every year. He had been wondering if Brennan would mind him taking off with Parker to get into a game, but now he saw that it probably wouldn't be a problem.

Brennan was already leaned over her seat, discussing doctoral options with Clara as they rounded the first corner.

Parker watched with mild amusement, tossing his football from hand to hand in his seat directly behind Brennan's.

His eyes met his father's in the mirror, and he grinned, just shaking his head as if this wasn't a surprise at all. And in all honesty, it wasn't.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"We got on the plane the next day, like nothing happened," Brennan was saying as they pulled into the first open space Booth could find near the park. "I've been back there several times since then, to different dig sites, but I've never had quite that experience. It was a part of the learning process in college."

"Most college student's don't nearly die on their class trips," Clara pointed out with raised eyebrows. "I don't know if I could go into a warzone like that."

"Luckily, your field will keep you from those direct encounters. But I have to say that the experience was undeniably important in my future decision making, and the way I handled trips to foreign countries."

"Was that the only time something like that happened?"

Brennan rolled her tongue between her teeth, debating over how to answer that honestly. "No," she said at last, and felt Booth stiffen even as he moved to take off his seatbelt. "But I'm still here," she added with a shrug, trying to downplay the obviously concerning nature of the discussion. She hadn't intended for it to get serious, when she had begun discussing her own college experiences.

Clara just nodded, guessing that Brennan didn't want any further conversation about that particular topic. They all climbed out of the SUV, moving to the trunk to begin unloading all that they had brought with them.

Booth didn't question her about what she had been telling Clara about, and she was grateful. She suspected he probably wanted to know, but today wasn't the day for her to go into detail on that. Today they were supposed to enjoy themselves and forget all of their fears. It had been years since her trip to El Salvador that had gone horribly awry, and years since she had told Angela the details of it as well. And there was the trip to Cuba, and Jose Alvarez... yes, it was better if Booth remain unaware of the things she had dealt with in the past, before she met him.

That was all behind her, now, and nothing like that was ever going to happen again. It didn't matter. Not now.

The more recent past, though, was harder to forget on days like this. The last time she had been on a picnic, it had been for James' company, and she had been there with him and their son. Nick always had a great time running around and tossing a baseball with his father.

She wondered, suddenly, what he was doing today. What he was doing right now. Was he celebrating the Fourth with James? Were they going to go watch a parade, or were they going to a picnic like this one? What about the fireworks, tonight? Where would they be watching them from?

She swallowed harshly and focused herself by taking out the folding beach chairs they had brought along and hooking one under each arm.

"Where are we heading?" Parker asked before she could, and she turned to Booth awaiting his response as she juggled the uncomfortable load.

"Um..." he said, scanning the park across the street from where they had pulled in. "Anywhere that's open, I guess. Why don't you go scout out a spot... bring the blanket with you. We'll catch up."

The teenager nodded and collected the large, folded patchwork blanket from the trunk, jogging loosely across the street and bounding over the edge of the sidewalk and onto the grass. Brennan followed at a slower pace, and Clara wasn't far behind with the picnic basket.

"We'll be right on the edge of the football game if he has his way," the younger woman commented, and Brennan slowed her pace so they could fall into step side-by-side.

"He's just like Booth," Brennan agreed with a nod.

"How did you two meet?" Clara asked curiously, and Brennan realized suddenly that it must have been a question she'd been wanting to ask for a while now.

"Through our work," she answered simply. "He needed help on a case, and Cam—my boss now—suggested that he team up with me, because of my expertise."

"So you were... what, instantly compatible?"

She had to laugh at that suggestion. "No. We hated each other, actually."

Clara gave a disbelieving laugh. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. He was all for diving into things based on his gut instincts, and I was empirical and scientific... we clashed when we realized all the differences, and we didn't speak to each other for _months_ after that first case."

"Wow... I never would have guessed that."

"It was well over ten years ago," Brennan answered with a shrug. "We got over the differences... and realized that they were actually what made us work so well together."

They caught up to Parker, who was unfolding the blanket and spreading it out on an open patch of grass. The park was already alive with other picnickers, and the smell of barbecue was in the air all around them.

"I thought this looked okay," he said, nodding to the area he had staked out for them.

"It's perfect," Brennan assured, setting down the chairs.

Clara put the basket down on the corner of the blanket and kissed him quickly before turning her attention over to helping Brennan unfold the chairs and set them up beside the edge of the blanket. Parker headed back to their vehicle to get more of their things, and again Clara and Brennan found themselves following at a slower pace.

"Parker tells me he grew up around you—he was really little when you and his dad started working together."

"That's true. He was about four years old when Booth first introduced him to me at Christmas during our first year as partners."

Clara smiled somewhat bashfully, sweeping her hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear as they weaved around a few other newly set up blankets. "I was wondering..." she began slowly, "If you could tell me about him. What he was like as a kid, I mean."

Brennan laughed, and found herself wondering if she would ask the same questions, were she to meet someone who knew Booth when he was a small child himself. She probably would have.

"Well," she started, "He was very curious. And he always spoke his mind very thoroughly." She grinned to herself, shaking her head as a few memories in particular came to mind. "One time, he asked if I could be Booth's girlfriend, and Booth almost died of embarrassment. He was around ten at the time, I think, and he wanted his dad to date someone who had a pool so he could have unlimited access."

Clara laughed in disbelief, "Oh my God, that's just great... I wish you had some of this stuff on tape. It would be great to torment him with."

"I'm not sure he would appreciate that."

"That's sort of the point. See, we ran into an old friend of mine a while back, and she told him all about our childhood together. He's already got all this information on me."

"Oh, I see. You're evening the playing field."

"Leveling the playing field, yes. That's exactly what I'm doing. What else do you have for me?"

"Well, he loved face paint... my friend Angela once covered his face rather thoroughly. It wouldn't come off for days."

"I bet his dad has pictures of that," she said, chuckling.

"Probably."

They arrived back at the SUV, and found Booth just finishing unloading all of their things from the trunk. He helped them pick up the cooler, and then sent them after Parker again, who was lugging the other two chairs. He took the sports equipment and the sparklers for himself, and shut the trunk firmly before starting after them.

"What else did you pack in here?" he questioned when they were all finally gathered by the blanket. Parker finished propping up the last chair as Booth set down the basket and dug through. "Really, Bones? You brought a book?" He picked up the heavy, hard-cover novel, and raised his eyebrows as he realized it was one of hers.

"Research," she said, plucking it from his hand with ease and tucking it under the crook of her arm.

"On your own book?"

"Yes, on my own book."

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again and looked up towards the sky for a second, shaking his head. "Do I want to ask?" he queried at last, raising his eyebrows and meeting her gaze again.

She considered for a moment, and then decided that she didn't want to explain. So she shook her head and gave him a little smile just to taunt him before turning around and fixing her chair's position so she could settle comfortably into it. Clara took the one directly beside her, and glanced at the book in her hand curiously.

"I've read that," she said in amazement, realization suddenly dawning. She reached for it, and Brennan handed it over without hesitation. She flipped it over in her hand and stared at the author picture on the back before turning back to Brennan again. "You looked familiar," she stammered. "And the name always sounded _really_ familiar when Parker talked about you... but I never put two and two together... I read these _years_ ago..."

"I _wrote_ them years ago," Brennan pointed out.

"Isn't this the last one?"

"Yes, that was the last Kathy and Andy book that I published."

Booth glanced up, but then returned firmly to his task of unpacking the picnic basket. He put out the dish of watermelon, and they each leaned forward and selected a slice for themselves.

It was still early enough for none of them to be actually interested in lunch, so they settled back into their chairs until it became obvious that a group was gathering for a football matchup.

Parker and Booth turned to Clara and Brennan expectantly, and the women sent them off, laughing in amusement at the eager expressions on their faces as they jogged off, with Parker calling over his should to make sure that Clara would be watching him play.

"He's a terrible show-off," she explained to Brennan, leaning over but not pulling her eyes off of her boyfriend.

"I'm sure he is," Brennan answered, unsurprised. "Like father, like son."

Clara nodded, and returned her interest to the book that she still held. She flipped through the pages, and landed on the dedication. "This was for Parker's dad, wasn't it?" she asked, raising her gaze after she had read it through a couple of times.

Brennan hesitated, glancing up and finding Booth among the other players, far away across the field as he chased after the man with custody of the football.

"Yeah, it was," she answered at last.

"Can I ask something?" she ventured curiously.

"Of course," Brennan responded easily. Internally, she felt her muscles tense nervously.

"Why did you stop writing about Kathy and Andy?"

The question caught her off-guard, since she'd been expecting a more personal question, and she relaxed as the initial shock wore off.

"I got married... changed the focus of my career... it sort of just happened."

"And then you started a new series?"

"Which I'm assuming you didn't read," Brennan guessed, earning an apologetic smile and a confirming nod.

"Sorry."

"Oh, no, it's fine. My agent explained to me that while my fan base had changed, it was just as large as before."

"So why would you need a Kathy book for your research?"

She was observant, and not ashamed of it. Brennan liked her for that, and found that, while she still wasn't ready to tell Booth, she wanted to share with someone. The fact that Clara had enjoyed her books made it an even better situation, from her perspective. She had never been very interested in how well her books sold, but she had always liked the idea that they had an impact. She guessed that her newest decision was going to have a positive result for many of her oldest followers.

"Because I've decided to return to Kathy and Andy."

Clara's mouth fell open, and then she grinned, her eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy store. "Are you serious? You're going to... start writing off of your old series again?"

"That's the plan. I've discussed it with my agent, my publisher, my editor... they're all on board and eager to see what I'll come up with. I'm still working out the plotline, but I find it easier than I was expecting, to return to my old characters. Of course, this is all confidential at the moment. My publicist wants to keep all of these things quiet until we're closer to the publishing date. Something to do with sales and creating a 'buzz' in the literary world... I don't really follow when she starts going off on tangents. But the point is that I would prefer if you didn't share this information with anyone else."

"Of course," Clara agreed at once. "I'm just... really thrilled. First finding out that I've already met one of my favorite author's without realizing it, and then finding out that there will be more of my favorite series... thank you."

"I'm glad you're interested. I was... somewhat worried that people might have forgotten by now. It's been a long seven years."

"That's like saying people will forget about Harry Potter in a few decades. Or any popular book series, really. Every single one has their devoted fans. Yours haven't forgotten, I promise you."

She nodded thoughtfully. It was nice to hear that. She had been thinking about this for a long while, now, since things had started to go wrong between her and James. Going back to Kathy and Andy, in many ways, had been like going home. They were warm, and familiar, whereas her newest characters had begun to seem colder and colder. She would finish that final book first, and close off that series permanently. And then... she could go back full-time to the characters she really wanted to work with.

"So... are you going to pick it up right where it left off?"

"No, no I don't think so. A few years need to pass, I think."

"And what about Rick?"

"I haven't decided, yet."

"Well, obviously he needs to go. I mean... we've all been wanting Kathy and Andy together for years now."

Brennan smiled sadly. This brought back memories of conversations—arguments, really—that she used to have with her editor.

_"Temperance, they want romance mixed into their mystery. Keeping the leads apart like this has them hooked... but if you don't get those two together eventually they'll get sick of it."_

"I'll work it out," she promised Clara, who smiled warmly in response.

"Glad to hear it... but don't tell me any more. I still like some mystery."

"Did you see that!" came a shout from across the field, and they both looked up to find Parker waving his arms at them, clutching the football. It was obvious he had just gotten a point of some sort.

"Great job!" Clara shouted back, sending him a thumbs-up before turning back to Brennan. "I've never been a big fan of sports," she explained with a shrug. "But he seems to enjoy them, so I try to be supportive."

Brennan nodded, her eyes searching out Booth. But she didn't get the chance to find him, because suddenly she heard a very familiar voice shout, "Mom!"

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth glanced back over, towards where they had left Brennan and Clara, a sudden pang in his chest his only reasoning. And he immediately saw the reason for his gut reaction.

He spotted James first, which made his blood run cold at once. His jaw clenched along with his fists, and he barely noticed what he was doing as he moved away from the game. He heard Parker telling the other players they'd be back; to keep playing without them, and then his son caught up and placed a hand on his shoulder. As if that would stop him.

But it did slow him, and Parker came level with him, walking by his side rather than attempting to block his path. At least he understood—clearly he had seen what was happening as well.

Nick was in his mother's arms, when Booth finally sent his gaze out to locate her. The child had apparently run straight to her, and James was following at a slower pace. As he approached their picnic blanket, she rose back to her feet, keeping her hands on her son's shoulders.

"James," Booth heard her address him coolly.

"Temperance," he responded in kind, nodding and stopping a few feet away. He beckoned to Nick, who clutched his thin arms around his mother's waist and glared over his shoulder at his father. One win for Brennan, Booth thought grimly.

Now, he and Parker were close enough to be noticed. Brennan glanced over at them quickly, and then returned her focus to her ex-husband.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Obviously, I came for the picnic," he answered. "What about you? Or is there an un-obvious reason why either of us would be here today?"

She huffed out a breath, but didn't speak again.

"Mom, I don't want to go," Nick said, his face pressed into the fabric of her shirt. Booth watched in distress from the side as her composure threatened to crumple. She clutched the boy closer to her, cradling his head and running her fingers soothingly through his thick hair.

She opened her mouth, shaking her head and seemingly at a loss for words.

Parker rescued her.

"Hey, buddy, remember me?" The boy tilted his head up and met the teenager's gaze. He loosened his grip on his mother slightly, and nodded. "How about we throw around my football while the grown-ups talk?" Parker suggested, reaching down to scoop it up off the picnic blanket.

Nick was reluctant, glancing up at Brennan as if he half-expected her to disappear if he stepped away.

"Go ahead," she said quietly. "Go play with Parker."

He nodded, hugging her again. "Love you," he murmured, brushing at his eyes as he stepped back.

"I love you, too," she whispered, tousling his hair slightly as he stepped away. Parker took charge, leading him far enough away that they could both play safely and stay out of hearing range, and all the attention in the remaining group moved to focus on James.

"I heard you were leaving for New Hampshire," James said calmly.

"I'm visiting my father," she responded stiffly, daring him to challenge her right to do so.

"And you just happened to not book a returning flight?"

Her teeth ground together, and Booth nearly intercepted. She beat him to it, though. "Actually, I did. And I'm entitled to take a vacation. I didn't know at first if I'll be coming back in a few days or in a week. But I _will_ be back for my weekend, before you even think about _asking_."

"I wasn't asking," he said with a raise of his hands and a smug look on his face that made Booth very much want to punch him. "But I was just checking. These things can have some weight with a judge's decision, you know."

She opened her mouth, her eyes blazing, but now Booth got to it before her. He stepped in between and moved forward so that James was forced to take a step back.

"You even think about taking that kid further away from her, and you won't know what hit you," he snapped.

"Ah, the partner speaks at last!" James called cheerfully. "I was starting to think you were going to be a polite little statue over there. Finally got her in bed, did you? Didn't take long, did it?"

If Brennan hadn't grabbed his arm, he probably would have hit him. He steamed as she put herself in the middle once again, holding him back. If he wanted to, he could have gotten around her. But she was determined, and he wasn't going to risk her getting hurt for his vengeance.

"Nick would like me to spend the afternoon with him," she stated levelly, as though she was not spreading her arms out to hold back the man behind her. "In his best interest..."

"In his best interest, I should take him home," James finished icily. "It's clear your boyfriend isn't in a very good mood, and I would hate for him to see anything inappropriate like violence."

Booth clenched his fists again, but stepped away heavily. Brennan's arms fell back at her sides, and she stepped forward.

"He misses me," she murmured. "And I miss him. _Please, _James..."

Booth's heart constricted at the desperation in her tone, and he could see James building off of it, loving that he was in control while she was so much at a loss. There was something else in his expression, though, that didn't make sense. A sort of... desperation of his own.

If that sonovabitch actually regretted his decision...

Booth shook slightly.

Was this some kind of thrill for him, then? Making her suffer because he was unhappy, himself?

It didn't even make sense, and all it was doing was making Booth want to hurt him even more thoroughly than before. He wanted him to hurt, to feel more pain than he had inflicted on Brennan. If only he was sure he could get away with it, with no consequences for himself or, more importantly, Brennan...

"Nick!" James called. Booth watched helplessly as Brennan's face crumpled. Her son came reluctantly over, looking like he wanted to seek refuge with his mother again, but relenting and going to his father when the man gave him a stern look. "We're going to go get a milkshake... how does that sound? And then we'll watch the fireworks tonight?"

"Why can't Mom come?" Nick whined.

"We'll talk about it later, alright? Come on."

He guided the child away without so much as a glance over his shoulder, leaving their joyful picnic in distressed ruins behind him.

Booth wrapped his arm around Brennan's shoulders, and she leaned into him, trembling although he could see no tears yet in her eyes. They were misty, but not reddened the way he had worried they might be. She was holding herself together relatively well, considering. He held her to him, though, as she fought her internal battle, and he wished he could be a part of it, and stand by her side in that darkness that was threatening to engulf her.

Parker and Clara stood by themselves off the side, still and silent.

Around them, the laughs and cheers of the others at the picnic site were muted.

So very far away.

**I have an angst problem. Like... I enjoy it a little too much. **

**Anyways, as always, please let me know what you thought. Reviews fuel my fingers on this keyboard, and help me crank out more chapters. We've still got some very important stuff ahead of us on this roller coaster. **


	23. Running Up That Hill

**A/N: Hello all, and welcome back. The song for this one is Running Up That Hill by Placebo. Or at least, Placebo's version is the one I listen to. I believe it might originally be from Kate Bush. If you don't know this song... then you aren't a true Bones fan, and I'm disappointed in you. ****Go watch Season 2. **_  
_

_Chapter 22: Running Up That Hill_

_You don't wanna hurt me,  
But see how deep the bullet lies.  
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder.  
There's a thunder in our hearts, baby.  
So much hate for the ones we love?  
Tell me, we both matter, don't we?_

_You, be running up that hill_  
_You and me, be running up that hill_  
_You and me won't be unhappy._

_July 5__th__, 2018_

Booth traced his pen over the words he had already written, darkening the narrow lines and filling in gaps. The result was that some groupings of words appeared bolded, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was just too bad for anyone that tried to sort out his meaning later on, if they attempted to read the report.

It had not been easy, saying farewell to Brennan. He had tried to convince himself that it would be simple. He would drive her to the airport, hug her before she was forced to leave him behind at the security gate, and make her promise to call him regularly while she was away.

But it hadn't been like that at all.

After their run-in with James and Nick at the park, she hadn't been herself for the rest of the evening. She had been quiet and thoughtful, staring straight through him when he tried to get her attention. Even Parker had failed in distracting her, and he had been disheartened and quiet on the ride back to the apartment as well.

Neither of them spoke of the incident in the hours after her departure, when they had been sitting together in the apartment with a game on the television set that neither of them held much interest in. They ordered pizza for dinner, and barely touched their plates. Parker went to bed early, and Booth stayed up for hours after he had gone, just staring at the wall above the television set and replaying the day over and over in his head.

Everything had been going so well. Sure, she was still leaving despite everything, but he believed her when she said she was doing it for the right reasons. They had been enjoying their holiday, and she had been getting on so well with Clara... it had been like a true family event with the four of them together.

He hated James for his arrival. The look on her face when she had seen Nick... had been somewhere between horror and desperation. Love and fear. He should have been glad for the joy that had appeared on her face in that moment... but the pure pain that had replaced it almost seconds later had been enough to wash all of that away and more.

Even if it meant she didn't see her son until her assigned weekend, even if that fact had caused her some suffering, he would have preferred it to what had actually transpired. She was hurting more now than she ever would have hurt due to that.

_"Hey, Bones..." he said, stopping her before she could walk away from him. She paused, and then slowly turned around, as though she really wished she could just avoid him right now._

_ "You know it's all going to be okay, right? Nothing that he says... none of it matters. Okay?"_

_ She opened her mouth, and then shut it again, choosing to bite her lip instead. But she didn't give him any response; no shake of her head, no slight nod, nothing. Instead, she turned away dejectedly._

_ "Bones," he tried once more, but this time she wasn't planning on listening. He caught her arm. "You'll call, right?" he asked, meeting her eyes seriously. They were nearly at the security gate. She was nearly gone. He could feel his heart racing, like he was about to lose her if he didn't _do_ something._

_ "I don't know," she answered heavily. He was glad to have an actual response, though, and he worked off of that._

_ "Please. Please call, Bones."_

_ She shook her head. "I need... I need this time to get away. I've... got a lot to think about."_

_ And then she stepped away again, and they were close enough to security that he didn't want to chase her again and create a scene. She moved through the barrier and stepped into the line, dropping her carry-on bag into one of the trays with her shoes, placing it on the conveyer belt. _

_ She glanced back just once, brushing her hair out of her face and meeting his stare with her wide blue eyes. He watched as she rolled her lip between her teeth, worrying it before she released her hand from her hair. It slipped loose from behind her ear again and fell to shield her face. A moment later, her back was turned, and he had no real choice but to walk away._

She hadn't called yet. And even if it had only been a day... it worried him. Because if she didn't call today, what were the odds she would call tomorrow, or the next day? What were the odds that she planned to call him _at all?_

He sighed to himself, running his hands through his hair and glancing once more at his desk phone. The paperwork in front of him blurred and went out of focus.

A knock at his door made him jump, and he glanced up, his eyes focusing again and recognizing that it was Sweets who stood there. He waved him in tiredly, knowing that it would be pointless to try and drive the psychologist away. His best chance was to just act as normal as possible and hope that the shrink was in a hurry, or had his own agenda for the visit. If this was some sort of check-up, then he was doomed.

"I heard about Dr. Brennan's vacation," Sweets said, letting the door shut behind him as he came forward to claim the seat across from Booth at the desk.

"Of course you did," Booth muttered, picking up a stress ball from among the trinkets on his desk and giving it a few squeezes. "Angela tell you, did she?"

"Cam, actually," Sweets said quietly, giving Booth a serious look, his brows drawn together and his eyes narrowed but full of sympathy. Booth hated it when he did that.

He nodded, though, only somewhat surprised by that answer. Of course Cam would have called him; she had always been able to guess at his feelings, even when he wasn't being obvious. He was slightly perturbed by the fact that she apparently thought he needed Sweets' to counsel him, but he admitted to himself that she had probably done it with good intentions and honest concerns. She was a good friend.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked finally, returning Sweets' stare in strong measure. A challenge, and one he didn't actually feel like making, no less. He would prefer to be alone right about now, to be honest.

"Nothing," Sweets answered at once, shrugging him off as though it were completely normal for him to drop by his office like this. As though it was a daily ritual of sorts and he was only carrying through with tradition. "Just... letting you know that, even though you aren't required to see me for sessions... my office is always open. As a psychologist... and as a friend."

He stood up, then, surprising Booth by choosing to leave of his own free will after such an undeniably short conversation. That was unusual, especially for him.

"Thanks," he said, frowning with some confusion. Sweets just offered a consoling smile and departed with a wave over his shoulder. The office door clicked shut behind him, and Booth slumped back in his chair, staring at it with his frown still firmly in place.

That was reverse psychology, and he was sure of it. Because he suddenly had a strong desire to chase after the younger man and explain himself. He cursed under his breath and turned back to the paperwork. He wasn't going to let the shrink in his head, not today. There was enough going on in there as it was.

But he did want to talk about his fears as far as Brennan was concerned, and he had felt that way even before the psychologist had arrived. In fact, he had been planning to deal with that later today, when he thought up a decent excuse to go over to the Jeffersonian.

Now, though, he was thinking that he didn't need one. He was just going to go there with no reasoning whatsoever. He didn't need a case to visit his team, after all. Even if they were short one member. Even if he had no actually reasoning.

He would just go by and see how they were doing.

With any luck, Angela would be free to talk with him... and he was sure she'd _make _herself free, even if she wasn't. She always did when he had something pressing to discuss, something that was bothering him. After all, it almost always revolved around Brennan, and that happened to be one of Angela's favorite topics.

He wondered to himself suddenly, as he pulled out onto the road, if Angela knew about the changes in his and Brennan's relationship. Whatever the hell their relationship _was _these days... it had definitely undergone some sort of transformation. They weren't together, of course. There was still a lot of grey area as far as that went. But sleeping together... that changed things, and he knew it. Even if neither of them was acknowledging it just yet.

It was Harper who he encountered first, when he stepped into the lab, and the anthropologist looked disappointed to see him. Clearly, like Booth, he was still expecting Brennan to return, to just walk through the doors like it was a normal day.

"Do we... have a case?" he questioned as Booth joined him on the platform. The agent's eyes roved past him to settle on Angela's office, which was dark. He frowned.

"No," he answered distractedly after a long pause. "Do you know where Angela is?" His dark gaze finally switched from the office to meet Harper's expectantly, and the assistant stammered for a moment.

"I, uh... I think she might be in the lounge. We are... having a slow day today, and she and Cam..."

He didn't let him finish, clapping him on the shoulder like he used to do with Zach, and allowing himself the small reminiscent smile before he half-jogged his way across the platform. He did feel somewhat bad for the younger man; having Brennan as your mentor meant several things. Most of them were positive, given that she was the best forensic anthropologist there was... but some of them led to situations much like this one. Brennan was independent. She wasn't reliant on others, and she forged her own path. Most of the time, she was at the lab. So, for Harper to be so suddenly left to his own devices... was probably a shock to him. With any luck, though, he was good enough at adapting by now to figure out she wouldn't be happy if she found he had gotten nothing done in her absence.

The lounge was empty save for the two expected women seated facing each other on opposite couches. They both glanced up upon his entrance, and he nodded to them in turn.

"What brings you here, G-man?" Angela asked, sipping her coffee. She looked far more subdued than normal, but at least her tone was its typical chipper self.

"Visiting, actually. The office was starting to drive me crazy."

"Hm. I bet," Cam agreed. She was studying him in that hard, analytical way of hers. Reading him. He shifted, and turned his attention back to the artist.

"I was hoping... to get a word with you."

"Of course," she agreed at once.

Cam stood up before Angela could, and the artist settled herself back into the cushion again, giving her boss an even nod that the other woman returned.

"I have paperwork," she said by way of explanation. She could have been serious, but he doubted it. She gave him a look that said _I'm around if you want to talk later_, and then departed, her heels tapping in a steady rhythm as she marched down the stairs and out of sight.

Booth hesitated a moment, and then took the seat that she had left vacant so that he could face Angela directly.

"She hasn't called you?" Angela guessed, raising and eyebrow and crossing her arms.

He sighed. "No. Has she... called you?"

Angela pursed her lips and shook her head. "She hadn't been answering her phone, and she hasn't responded to any of my emails."

"Shit," Booth muttered.

"Booth..." she started tentatively, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "I know we discussed this the other day, and I know you explained what happened at the picnic once already... but I have a few more questions. I'm still trying to... understand what happened."

"When's the last time you spoke to Brennan yourself?" Booth responded with a question. He needed a gauge for how much she knew before he decided how much to tell her.

"When she told me she was going away... I found her with the tickets and she explained."

"And what day was that?"

"Monday, I think. Why?"

He just shook his head in response, and she gave a frustrated sigh.

"Alright. I still have those questions, and I would _love_ some answers."

"Go for it," he said heavily, knowing that he wasn't likely to enjoy this. How was he supposed to answer if she asked him if there was something more going on between him and Brennan? Brennan herself hadn't spoken to Angela since then, so he had no idea if she wanted her friend to know or not. Would she feel betrayed if he shared that detail with the artist?

"What exactly did James say to her?"

That was nearly as bad, because what James had said... was that he and Brennan had slept together. He couldn't very well tell her that without leading her to that next question. Besides, the moment he answered she would know it was true. Damn her for being so good at reading him.

"He challenged her about her trip to New Hampshire," Booth answered instead, going for the other taunt that James had thrown and hoping she wouldn't pick up on the partial deception. "He implied that... her taking off might have some influence on the judge's decision. Like her custody rights might get revoked entirely."

Angela nodded calmly, but her eyes were blazing and she was stone-faced. He could see the anger burning deep within her, and he knew she was wishing, just like him, that she could take James down so hard that he wouldn't know what hit him.

"Of course he did," she said at last, her tone low but surprisingly steady. "Did... Nick seem okay?"

"He was upset that he couldn't spend time with her... so she's got that going for her, at least. James isn't winning any points with the kid."

Ange frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think she stands a chance, with the appeal?"

"God, I hope so," he said tiredly. "It's... her last chance, you know?"

"Yeah, Booth. I know." Her gaze shifted to stare sadly at her lap for a moment before it raised with fresh resolve. "She needs us there, this time. I don't care what she says... I'm going to be in that courtroom with her when it happens. I'm not letting her do it alone again."

"Neither am I," he agreed at once. He had already been thinking about that, beforehand. And he had hope that she would be okay with it, as well. Things were still changing, and she had finally come to him. That must mean she would be more receptive to help from her friends, and she would be able to appreciate and accept the offer of their support at the appeal. "I still just... wish she'd _call,_ though."

"You and me both. If Max wasn't unlisted, I'd have called _him _by now. But you know I don't have anything on him. And apparently he still changes his cell phone regularly, what with his paranoia about the government."

"Yeah, I don't have a number for him either, and I've already used my contacts to try and get one. No luck. He's too smart for his own good."

Angela nodded in agreement. "Once a criminal..."

Booth laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, that's Max."

They fell into silence, and he was the one who eventually broke it again.

"She's not going to call."

"Hey, you don't know that," she tried, but he was already speaking again, his head bowed.

"If she wanted to, she'd have done so by now. She's staying away from me for a reason. And there's really nothing I can _do_ about that."

"What happened, Booth? What... changed? Because a few days ago, she was so worried about how you would react to her leaving, and I was sure she'd be calling you every hour to just hear your voice and reassure herself that you weren't upset that she took off. And now... well, here you are."

He knew he should have kept his mouth shut and avoided leading her to this place, but now he was sure he had subconsciously wanted her to ask right from the start. Because he wanted to explain it to someone, and he desperately wanted some advice to tell him how to fix this whole mess. Who better to go to than Angela, who he knew he could trust for both the security of the information and the advice he was so greatly needed?

"We slept together. Two nights ago."

And just like that, it was out there. He held is breath in the aftermath, and watched with very little surprise as Angela's face lit up like a Christmas tree, her eyes positively glowing.

"Oh. My. _God!"_ she hissed, barely keeping herself from screaming it across the lab. "You did it? You _finally _did it? Booth—" she lunged forward and threw her arms around him. "I'm so happy for you!" she pulled back in the next second though, sticking her finger in his face, "It was good, right? You both loved it?"

He flushed, stammering, and she waved it off before he could even form an answer.

"Of course it was. Of course. So then... what's the problem? Did she freak out? Did _you_ freak out?"

"No!" he said quickly, cutting her off. "Neither of us freaked out, Ange. We just... haven't really talked about it."

Realization dawned across her features. "And now... you think she's using this as a chance to run away from what happened."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah. Somewhat."

Angela dropped back into her spot on the couch opposite him. "Alright, first off... this is a good thing. A _very_ good thing. And she was already planning on leaving even without this happening, so you shouldn't be worried about that. It also explains why she isn't answering her phone, though..." she added more thoughtfully, frowning and considering something to herself that she wasn't sharing.

"Why?" he interrupted her moment, leaning forward with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Booth..." Angela began, meeting his gaze seriously. "Brennan's just been through a very rough time, what with the divorce and losing her son and the way James keeps popping up to periodically destroy her. You already knew that. But the thing is... this is exactly what she wants. She wants to be with you, and that confuses her and panics her all at the same time. This vacation... gives her the chance to clear her head away from all of us and away from, essentially, her entire life."

"Yeah. She... said all of that. For the most part."

Angela nodded. "Good. Just understand, Booth, that she _does_ want to be with you. No matter what she might say, or what she might do... she really, _really_, does want that."

He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then forced it open once more to force out one last thing he needed her to take into consideration. Now that she knew the truth of the situation, he could share the other detail about their encounter with James.

"He didn't only taunt her about her vacation, Ange." She frowned, and then he saw her catch up to what he was saying, and she nodded for him to continue, her brows still furrowed as she waited. "He also... made implications about her relationship with me."

Angela went very still. At first, he thought it was because of her anger, but then he could see that there was something else going on. All the blood and drained from her face, and she whispered, "Oh my God," under her breath, her hands slowly forming into fists so tight that her knuckles went white.

"What is it?" he asked nervously, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear the answer, but knowing that he needed to know the truth.

"This... isn't the first time he's done that," she murmured.

Booth frowned. "But... we only just..."

"I know that," she answered impatiently, waving at him to cut him short. "This was... before the divorce. He told her... Booth, he told her that..." She broke off before she could finish, shaking her head and reaching up to hastily shove a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He could tell she was looking for a distraction, an escape. "God, I don't know if I should even _tell_ you..."

"Ange, if this can explain what's going on with her, why all of this is happening..."

"I know. I know." She took a shaky breath to steady herself. "Alright. It was... quite some time ago, back when she had just found out he was cheating on her. He implied that... there was something going on between you and Brennan."

Booth's fists clenched, but he still didn't see the reason she was so upset. And then she started speaking again, and he realized painfully that there was more to it. Of course there was more.

"And then... he suggested that, if you and Brennan ever slept together... it would be all you needed to see that..." she stopped again, biting her lip.

"What?" he asked. He was in too deep now, and he needed her to finish.

"He implied that all you wanted from her was sex, and that you would figure out she wasn't worth it after you slept with her," Angela said in a rush, her eyes flicking away the moment the words were out, seeking sanctuary once more on the fabric of her skirt.

There was dead silence for a long time, as Booth processed that information.

The first thing that occurred to him was that he very much wanted to go find James and break his neck. But immediately after that came the realization of what Brennan must have thought when James brought the comment back up at the picnic.

"She doesn't believe it, Booth," Angela murmured softly, as if she was reading his thoughts.

"No?" he tossed back. "You really think so?"

In his mind, he was running through the possibility over and over again. By all indications, Brennan returned his feelings for her. And he knew she could see how much he cared for her. He knew she judged him better than that, and that she couldn't possibly think he only wanted sex from her.

But at the same time, it was a chilling thought. Brennan wasn't exactly known for believing in herself. In fact, despite how much she claimed to be rational, she often went out of her way to irrationally believe the most negative option provided to her. She hadn't thought it was possible for anyone to love her. Hadn't thought it was possible to have someone in her life who wouldn't eventually betray her.

What was to say she hadn't considered the possibility when James had brought it to light?

And they _hadn't_ talked about what had happened, either. He had held off for her sake, but now he was regretting that. What if she had been waiting for him to be the one to bring it up, and when he hadn't... she had assumed it meant something completely different than he had intended?

That wouldn't shock him in the slightest.

"Yeah, Booth, I do," Angela answered him, her tone just as fervent as his. "Because Brennan believes in _you_. You are the _one_ constant in her life, the one guy she can count on. She knows you would never betray her, and she knows you don't treat _any_ woman like that, let alone _her_."

He closed his eyes. She was right, of course.

Slowly, he allowed himself to nod, and then glanced up to meet her eyes again.

"She's still afraid of it, though, isn't she?"

Angela only hesitated a moment before answering. "Probably, yeah. It's just... how she works. You know that."

He nodded. Yeah, he knew that.

"I need to talk to her... explain some things. I just... don't know how she'll react."

"Booth, if you tell her how you feel, I promise you nothing can go wrong. At least, it better not. And if it does, you just tell me and I'll go talk some sense into her. Because... you two have so much going for you. You always have. And you both deserve this, after everything you've already put yourselves through."

"What about the appeal, though? I mean... it doesn't exactly look good if she starts a new relationship so quickly, does it?"

"You're a fantastic father figure, Booth. And Nick adores Parker. By any standards, custody should look _better_ for Brennan when she has a more traditional familial setting to provide. Besides, James lost that card to play when he cheated on Brennan. He can't tell her she can't begin something new when he was seeing someone else _while_ they were married."

"He'll find a way, though," Booth muttered.

"Probably, yeah. But... Brennan _needs_ you with her. You'll both figure it all out, I'm sure."

He gave a short laugh. "Easy to say when you're not one of us."

"Hey, hey, I've had my share of 'figuring out' to do. If Hodgins and I could survive through all of that, you and Brennan can as well. I know... the time difference isn't the same and there's other stuff in there... but the point is that you belong together. And this is going to work out."

"I hope so, Ange. I really hope so."


	24. Signal Fire

**A/N: This is the shortest chapter yet (excluding the prologue) and I apologize for that. It was just... right, to end it where I did, and I couldn't have fit more without it being pointless filler. This story has been building up to something, for a very long time now. And we are finally heading into it. I'm beyond excited to finally be writing this part, since it's what I've been working up to for so very long now. I hope you will all enjoy. The rides not over yet... not by a long shot.**

**This one is another Snow Patrol song, Signal Fire. It's an awesome song, and if I haven't already gotten you hooked on Snow Patrol... I'm not sure what else to do for you. They are amazing, and you should check them out. **

**I still don't own Bones. ****Darn, right?**_  
_

_Chapter 23: Signal Fire_

_The perfect words never crossed my mind,  
Cause there was nothin' in there but you.  
I felt every ounce of me screaming out,  
But the sound was trapped deep in me.  
All I wanted just sped right past me,  
While I was rooted fast to the earth,  
I could be stuck here for a thousand years,  
Without your arms to drag me out._

_July 13__th__, 2018_

"I'm not saying another word until my lawyer gets here."

"Sure you aren't," Booth responded agreeably, setting his hands loosely on his side of the table and leaning forward. "But, see, it doesn't look good to a jury if you do something like that." He pulled out the file his team had put together and slid several of the papers across to the man in handcuffs. "You killed her," he said shortly. "And we can prove it, with the DNA we found on the rope, the motive we have—juries _love_ motive—and the fact that your alibi... well, it totally fell through. So, why don't we try again. Just tell me your story. It will help you in the long run. Cooperation always helps in the long run. I've seen a lot of criminals come through here, and a lot of them are just like you—they didn't mean it, they just got in over their heads. Juries like that sort of thing, too."

The man was sweating heavily.

"Still want that lawyer?"

The man licked his lips, his fingers shaking and making the cuffs rattle on the hard table. Booth pulled the key from his pocket and reached across, removing them. The man nodded gratefully, dropping his hands into his lap.

"Alright," he said, his voice thin and strangled. "I'll talk."

Booth stepped heavily out of the interrogation room only minutes later, letting out a sigh and running a hand up over his face and through his hair.

Solving a case didn't have the same ring to it without Brennan's help. There was so much less satisfaction when there was no celebratory drink afterwards, and when the paperwork didn't even have the promise of her company attached to it.

The team was planning on going out to the Founding Fathers to celebrate a job well done, as they had told him once he'd called and announced the successful arrest, and they'd been eager to have him along... but he'd turned them down. There was still some work to be done, to make sure the evidence was solid for the trial that they could anticipate in the next few months. Caroline would be breathing down his neck about it soon enough, he was sure.

Might as well get it out of the way.

But more than that... it was the feeling of disappointment that kept him from wanting to spend time with his friends.

Brennan hadn't called him, not once, since she had left. He hadn't seen or heard from her. Not so much as an email. And all he seemed capable of doing was reliving that last moment in the airport, and the last words she had said before she had turned her back and walked away.

She was coming home today. Or at least, she was supposed to be.

He wouldn't know if she had changed those plans.

A glance at his watch confirmed that her flight had gotten in about an hour ago, and he swallowed sharply. He'd been in the middle of the arrest at that point, and since then had been trapped in interrogation forcing out the truth from their suspect—who happened to be a lovely piece of work, having strangled his sister over the family inheritance.

He checked his phone for messages, knowing all to well that there wouldn't be any but feeling disappointed nonetheless when it was confirmed by the lit up '0' on his screen. Of course she hadn't called. She'd probably gotten a cab rather than relying on any of her friends for a ride.

She would be on her way, right now. Without hesitation, he changed his plans. He swept into his office and gathered all the information and paperwork on his desk into an empty file, tucking it under his arm and heading out. Her stuff was at his place, and Angela told him she didn't have an apartment officially, yet, so there was really no where else for her to go.

Booth could get home and start working on the paperwork. When she eventually showed up, whether to get her things or to actually talk to him, he would be waiting. And he wasn't going to let her leave until he had some answers about their situation. Namely, a reason for the lack of contact. Yeah, she had wanted distance. But he had hoped she might have the decency to call him once she figured things out. The lack of a call could mean anything—she might have figured out she didn't want anything with him, or she might still be struggling with it. And then there was even the chance that she had simply been afraid to tell him the truth.

Maybe her impromptu vacation had had more meaning than he'd attributed to it.

Whatever it was, he wanted answers. And he wanted to show her that she could trust him, and it didn't matter what the truth was, so long as she told him why.

That was all he wanted from her right now.

As he left the building, he held his cell phone in his hand, running his fingers absently over the keys and weighing his options. She was home, now. If he called her...

He didn't let the thought get any further than that. He hit the speed-dial button and pressed the phone to his ear.

It only rang once, and then went straight to voicemail.

He stared straight ahead, his mouth falling open. For some reason, he hadn't even considered that possibility. Either her phone would be resolutely _off_... or she would pick up. The idea of her sending him straight to voicemail hadn't occurred to him.

He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket, climbing into his SUV with fresh resolve. A vein on his neck pulsed as he set his jaw firmly and shoved the vehicle into drive.

So, now she was avoiding him even back in DC. While she was away... he could rationalize that. He could explain to himself that she wanted time, that she was on vacation, trying to escape from reality far away from everyone and everything.

Here and now, though... that meant something completely different.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Parker was just climbing out of his truck when Booth pulled into his spot beside him.

"Hey," his son greeted him. "Out early today?"

He just shook his head distractedly and headed for the door, his keys ready in his hand. Perplexed, his son followed after him, jogging to keep up when he chose to take the stairs over waiting for the elevator.

"What's up?" Parker called after him, but he didn't answer.

Nothing seemed out of place in the hallway, and to anyone else, they'd never have suspected a thing. But he could see that the rock that hid his spare key had shifted a foot to the right. Swallowing dryly, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

His apartment looked exactly the same. The only thing that had changed... was the fact that the bag by the door was missing. As he moved through his home, his eyes trailed over every spot where there had been a belonging of hers. There hadn't been much, because she'd taken most of her necessities and clothing with her to New Hampshire... but there had been plenty still, that she had left with him for safe-keeping while she was away.

And now, all of it was gone.

He swore lowly, moving back out to the main room and finding Parker still standing by the door.

"She took her stuff," the teenager said slowly, frowning.

"Yeah. Yeah, she took her stuff," he muttered under his breath. And just like that, all of his pent up frustrations washed out of him and he dropped heavily onto the sofa, sinking into the soft fabric and dropping his back into the cushions. He raised his hands to cover his face.

"Dad?" Parker asked hesitantly.

"What?" he growled out, regretting his tone the moment the word had escaped. But his son seemed unfazed.

"She didn't... call, did she?"

"No."

"Did you try—"

"Yes."

"Oh."

They both fell silent.

After several uncomfortable minutes like that, something prodded at his arm, and he pried his hands from his face and stared at his son, who was holding the phone pointed at him.

"I already—"

"I know. Try Angela."

He opened his mouth, ready to shoot down the idea, but then shut it again and accepted the phone. The artist was his best bet at this point, as far as an explanation went. If Brennan was back and needed a place to stay... Angela would be the first person she called. And she'd left her best friend in charge of finding her a new place, as well. Surely she'd have called her to ask how the search had gone, so she'd have a place to go upon returning to the city.

"Hey, it's me," he said the moment she answered.

"Booth, thank goodness... has Brennan called you? I've been trying her cell for an hour, and she just keeps sending me to voicemail. I don't understand."

He closed his eyes and rolled his tongue over his dry lips.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"She didn't call you," Angela said flatly.

"No, she didn't."

"Damn it," the artist hissed. "Damn her..."

"She came by my place while I was at work. Took all her stuff."

"She _what?"_ Angela ground out, shock mixing with fury.

He sighed and leaned back into the cushions again, closing his eyes once more as he recounted the last five or so minutes.

"Your fake rock? She used the key from your fake rock?"

"I know it's stupid, okay, Ange? She told me ages ago it didn't fool anybody. And I don't really see how that—"

"No, no, that's not what I mean," she said hurriedly. "She has a key for your apartment, Booth. You gave her one... years ago. Don't you remember? She doesn't need your fake rock."

He stared up at the ceiling blankly. "No... she probably lost it or got rid of it." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Ange. She used the rock, and her stuff is gone, and—"

"But she wouldn't have gotten rid of the key," Angela insisted. "I know she still had it, Booth. I know she did."

"Whatever," he snapped back, his patience wearing thin. "Her stuff's gone, she's back, she's sending us _both_ to voicemail... clearly she doesn't want anything to do with us."

"Then where is she?" Angela demanded. "Come on, Booth, if she got her stuff back, it couldn't have been that long ago. She just flew in. And she doesn't have an apartment."

"Some hotel, probably."

"Find her," Angela said simply, as if it were really as easy as that.

"She doesn't want to be found," Booth shot back at her just as simply. "I can't make her talk to me, Ange. If she's running from us, then she's got a reason. And you know what? I'm not sure I want to know what it is. Because I'm really sick of getting tossed around. Seven _years_, I watched her be with another guy, and I get it. I get that she doesn't want to rush into something. And I get that maybe it freaked her out that we were getting so close so quickly. But if she can't even _call _me..."

"Just find her, okay?" Angela cut him off. "I need to talk to her, if you won't. Call me back when you've got an address or something, alright? I know you've got connections, G-man. Use them if you want answers as much as I do. And I _know_ you do."

She hung up on him, just like that, and he continued to stare at the ceiling for a long time after the dial tone became just a dull ringing in his ear.

"What did she say?" Parker asked, rejoining him. He realized suddenly that his son had left the room for a while, and had only just returned, munching nervously on a handful of chips. A bad habit he'd gotten from his mother—eating when he was stressed. Booth couldn't eat when things like this were happening. The very idea of food made him sick, and he looked away from Parker now as his son tossed another chip into his mouth.

"She wants me to find out where Brennan is."

There was silence for a moment, except for the chewing. "Do it," his son suggested finally, and Booth caught that he was shrugging from the corner of his eye. He sighed heavily.

"It's not that easy."

"Why not? Just put a check on her credit cards and see what she's doing. She doesn't carry enough cash on her to pay for a hotel room, does she?"

He had a good point, but Booth wished he didn't.

To be honest, he was tired. Tired of his emotions being thrown around nonstop by the roller coaster that was Brennan. It would be worth it, if only he could see the end somewhere up ahead. If he knew this story had a happy ending, he'd gladly deal with the emotional drops. But all he could see right now was that Brennan was running from him again, with no explanation, and he was being left behind with an even more wounded heart than he'd been trying to live with before. How much longer before it was too beat-up to find a way to move on, to live a life without her in it?

Still, though, he was too weak to turn down the easy answer. And he still wanted that explanation from her, even if he was now certain it wasn't going to be one he was happy with.

He called the office, and spoke with Jimmy, asking him to put a trace on her, as off-the-books as he could manage. Jimmy, good guy that he was, didn't ask any questions. He just told Booth to hold on for a moment, and he listened to the smooth sound of tapping keys.

"Alright, Booth," his friend said. "You're not going to like this. It says your doctor booked a flight to Spain about twenty minutes ago, and she's taking off in... a half hour."

He swallowed. "Spain."

"Yeah, man. Sorry."

"Thanks for the info. One way, right?"

"One way," Jimmy confirmed. Booth nodded to himself.

"Owe you one," he said heavily, and hung up.

Parker stared at him.

"Spain?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Booth growled out. _"Spain."_

But Parker was shaking his head. "That doesn't even make _sense_. What about Nick?"

"Don't ask me," Booth muttered, forcing himself to his feet and pacing in front of the television set. He needed to work off some of the frustration. He'd have liked to get up and go for a jog, but he knew he couldn't avoid Angela. She deserved some answers just as much as he did, and she was waiting anxiously for his call back.

Pressing his phone to his ear once again, he only listened to one ring before there was an urgent, "Hello?"

"She's going to Spain," he said darkly, and there was silence.

"You mean, like... _Europe_ Spain?"

"Yeah, Ange. That one."

"I'll kill her," the artist whispered.

"Don't bother," Booth cut in. "What's the point?"

"Hey. Don't you dare be a quitter on me," Angela warned him, some of the fire returning to her voice. "I'm going to go straight to the source... I'll call you back."

Yet again, she had hung up on him. This time, though, he was confused rather than annoyed.

He dropped the phone from his ear and snapped it shut.

"What?" Parker asked, his brows drawn together and his head tilted slightly to the side.

"No clue," he said with a shake of his head.

"...She wouldn't just leave, you know," Parker insisted softly. "Not with Nick still here, at least."

A sudden, terrifying thought washed over Booth, and as his eyes met with Parker's, he saw the same idea blossoming darkly there as well.

"No," he said shortly, shaking his head. "She wouldn't."

"Dad, maybe you should call, just in case..."

"I'm not calling that son of a bitch to give him more ammo to use against her."

"And if she's fleeing the country with her son?"

"Then... I don't want to be involved. And it makes sense why she wouldn't want to involve us, too." Really, it explained everything. The fact she hadn't called, how she had gotten her stuff without leaving a trace or a note or anything at all... and then the flight to Spain, one way, so quickly after her return...

"But, if she really did it—"

"Then she had a very good reason. And..." he swallowed heavily. "She knows what she's doing. She'll know how to... how to stay hidden and safe... and she's got plenty of resources..."

Parker shook his head, and now it was his turn to drop down onto the couch heavily.

His phone rang, and he glanced at it in surprise, almost having forgotten he was expecting a call.

"Ange?"

"No," said a gruff voice. "Not Ange. Booth, what the hell is going on? I just got a very uninformative call from my son, claiming that Tempe's artist friend had just called _him_ in a near state of hysterics... and all I've gotten so far is that my daughter is on a flight to _Spain_. Explain. Now."

He barely had the chance to grasp that he was finally speaking to the elusive Max Keenan, or that Angela apparently had found a way to contact Russ. _Why didn't she tell me she had _his_ number?_

"Max, I've been trying to contact Bones for a week. I know less than you do."

The older man sputtered. "Well clearly something happened since she left here, because she never mentioned a trip to Spain. Not once. And so I'm wondering what it is you did to her in the past few days that would warrant her to make such a drastic—"

"Past few _days_?"

"Yeah, Booth. The past few days since she got home. What did you say to her?"

Booth shook his head to clear it. "I haven't spoken to her since she _left_. Her flight was supposed to get in _today_."

"What are you talking about? She went back early. She called you; I heard her leave a message."

His blood ran cold. "What?"

"I said she called you. What are you, deaf?"

"Max, I never got a message from her."

"What the _hell_ do you mean, you never got a message from her?"

"I mean I never got it, Max. And I've been checking _very_ thoroughly for messages and missed calls. When did she leave?"

"Early morning on Wednesday. Booth, you haven't _seen_ her?"

"No, Max," he responded tersely, scrubbing his hand up and down on the back of his neck. "No, I haven't. What did she say, in her message?"

"I was trying not to listen—"

"What did she say?" Booth repeated. Of course Max knew. Of course he'd listened.

"Not much, Booth. She apologized for not calling you sooner, said she'd see you soon... asked you to pick her up at the airport."

A shudder washed through him.

"And then she left?"

"Yeah. I took her to the airport."

"Did she say _anything_, Max? Anything that didn't seem right to you, anything to suggest something was... off?"

"No, she was... she was fine. She told me she was starting to work on plot ideas to go back to that old series of mystery novels she used to work on, that she was glad to be away from James... that there was an appeal coming for the decision about custody of Nick. I told her I'd come down and visit sometime in August, and she seemed happy about it."

"And when she got on the plane? Nothing weird? You didn't see anyone suspicious?"

"No, Booth. And I'm a pretty conscientious guy, if you remember. I'd have known if something was wrong."

Booth sighed heavily. He wasn't getting anywhere. Max was telling him that Brennan had gone home two days ago. Her stuff had only gone missing today. She had only just booked a trip to Spain. Suddenly, this wasn't about her running away.

This was about something far more worrisome, and he had to admit that there was a lot of merit to the possibility she was actually missing. That she hadn't picked this path. Max was a conman, he'd know if his daughter had been lying. And from his account, it sounded like she'd been genuine. Like she hadn't been hiding anything from him.

And what about that message he'd never gotten? What did that mean? Had she not really left it, or had there been a malfunction with the call?

"You didn't text her back?" Max said suddenly, getting Booth's attention.

"What?"

"Booth, if you never got the message, how did you text her and tell her you'd be at the airport to pick her up?"

"I didn't," he replied dumbly.

"I'm on the next plane," Max said, and the line went dead on him for the third time that night.

**Share your thoughts, pretty please. I'd love to know what you were thinking during the chapter, and now, at the end of it.**


	25. Numbness For Sound

**A/N: The response to last chapter was phenominal! I try to respond to reviews, I really do, but I read them on my iPod and I despise typing on that thing. When I get the chance, though, I try to respond to those people that write detailed responses or ask me questions I have answers to. So, this is a big THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed, and to all those I didn't get the chance to respond to while I was busy typing out this chapter and scrambling to get done the next one for Always All For You as well. (I really put too much on my plate, but I don't regret it. It's a fun race against the clock, hehe) Also, some people I just can't respond to because they're too smart. It's a bit challenging to respond to reviews when the person has just told me their opinion about where the story is going... and they're completely correct. I'm far too tempted to tell them their right and then gush about the whole plotline. Which I've done to my unoffical beta on numerous occasions.  
**

**But seriously, some of you are too smart for you own good. And that's a compliment, don't worry. **

**Song for this one is Numbness For Sound by Howie Day. **_  
_

_Chapter 24: Numbness For Sound_

_A cold winter sun  
My feet underground  
A pale windless city  
A numbness for sound_

_I'll wait, back here_  
_All that you notice_  
_A moment in time_  
_A photograph lost here_  
_Since you were mine_  
_I'll wait back here_  
_or should I start pushing my way back_  
_Yeah..._  
_Should I start pushing my way back_

_July 14__th__, 2018_

It was three o'clock in the morning when the team was finally gathered in its entirety in the lab. It was weirdly quiet, and the stars shone down through the skylights, the clouds hovering in front of the moon creating patterns on the smooth, sterile surfaces. The lights were on, but dimmed. The whole effect made everything seem unrealistic.

Booth kept glancing at her dark office, sitting there like a living metaphor for their situation. Brennan was silent in their lives right now. Her light was out—they did not know where she was, or what was happening.

Quite literally... they were in the dark.

Max and Russ were the last arrivals to join the already stressed out and exhausted crew that was standing around in a small, unorganized circle. Hodgins was hunched in his chair on his section of the platform, his hand rested next to his over-sized microscope and his eyes shadowed and dark.

Angela paced in front of him, and her husband watched with muted interest, like someone who had been dragged to a tennis match and wanted to be in any other situation but this one. Every now and then she blew out a puffed sigh, and pursed her lips, her hands clenching and unclenching on each turn that she took, as though she was getting ready to scream.

The tension was almost unbearable.

Harper was looking indecisive, as was the norm, and he seemed to shrink in his corner of the platform, where he sat with his back stiff against the railing, watching everything and chewing violently on his lip.

Sweets was mumbling again, earning dark looks from a weary Cam, whose hair was now sticking out at angles from her ponytail, her eyes hooded but anxious. She was tapping her foot, which wasn't helping matters for the rest of them anymore than Sweets' inane talking was, but no one said anything to either of them.

Parker was in the shadows, having insisted on coming along, with his arms crossed and his stance stiff. His sneakers were white and they practically glowed in the darkness. For some reason, that was the only thing Booth could think of as his eyes swept over him.

The exhaustion was starting to get the better of him, and they were still _no where_.

As Max came in, though, closely followed by his son... the atmosphere altered. Finally, a change to tear them from their dark and helpless moods. When they'd all first gathered, summoned by Angela, there had been a lot of talking. Booth had filled everyone in on what he knew and what he suspected, and they had reviewed the evidence as a whole, each contributing and trying to puzzle out what this all meant.

Daisy had tried to help via webcam from Hodgins' mansion where she was now stationed to keep an eye on all the children, but eventually Sweets had convinced her that he would notify her the moment anything changed, and she had left them.

The monitor she had been on was black now, with the Jeffersonian logo flashing occasionally in different corners.

"Fill me in," Max said firmly, almost making it up the stairs before Angela had the chance to swipe her card through the system.

"None of us have seen or had any contact with Dr. Brennan since the day she left for New Hampshire," Cam began informatively albeit a bit monotone. Her eyes had sparked a bit with the new conversation, though, and she was sitting upright now, rather than hunched over. Her foot had stopped tapping, and Sweets had stopped mumbling. All eyes were on Max. "As far as we knew, she was taking a vacation to get away for a while, and would be returning on the thirteenth as planned, just in time for her weekend with her son."

"I filled them in on what happened with the cell phone," Booth told him, but he shook his head.

"Then fill me in. Because I'd _love _an explanation."

"We still have no clue why the call never reached me, or who the text came from... but clearly something is wrong with the situation."

"Damn right it is. Don't you have some sort of... tracking you can do? Half the reason I don't have one of those damn things for more than a week is because of those GPS chips they put in them. Government trying to track everything we do and all. You better be able to put that to good use."

"Already tried," Booth answered heavily the moment Max was finished. He glanced at Hodgins, who hadn't even batted an eyelash at the conspiracy theory. If that wasn't proof of the dark day they were having, then nothing was. "Her phone is off now, or destroyed."

Max glared at him as if this were his fault, and Booth could see he was internally struggling for words. Probably trying to find some way to pin this on someone, but failing when he saw there was really no one to put on the spot here. If anything, he was the most likely to blame, having seen her last. And clearly... he was realizing that.

He finally huffed out a sigh and dropped into the nearest chair, shaking his head.

"So, she's not in Spain, then?" he tried, a near-desperate tone in his voice.

Booth couldn't help but sympathize. "No, Max, she's not. That was one of the first things I did, after trying to track down her phone. The airport won't give us the security tapes from her arrival until we get a subpoena, which we have to wait until morning for, but they told me she never boarded that flight to Spain."

"Red herring," Max spat. "Someone's trying to throw us off, make us think she's somewhere she's not."

"Yeah. We figured that out, too," Booth said, and his voice would have been snappy or sarcastic if he wasn't so tired. They'd already exhausted all of these options. Max wasn't giving them anything _new_. And Russ was just plain silent, looking gaunt and near-panicked despite not saying a single word.

"Where's that son of a bitch James?" Max enquired, his eyes flashing.

Booth's other first thought after he finally gave in to the idea that she had been taken from them, as opposed to leaving of her own free will.

"At his house with Nick," Booth responded darkly. "Believe me... he's coming in for interrogation the moment the sun comes up."

"I'll go get him now," Max growled, turning as though he was actually going to leave.

"No," Angela said, speaking for the first time. All eyes turned to her in surprise. She had stopped pacing when Max had joined them, and had faded into the shadows beside her husband. "No," she repeated. "Brennan... Brennan wouldn't want you to drag her son into this. No matter where she is... she wouldn't want him involved."

"We'll get James as soon as he leaves for his office," Booth reassured, and then turned back to Max with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll kill him," Max muttered.

"No," Angela said again, louder than before.

None of them needed an explanation on that one. There were any number of reasons, and all of them made sense. Max didn't need to drag his daughter into another trial, and he didn't need to impede their investigation. If James was involved, and Booth was inclined to believe he was... then they needed him alive. For now. He could have the death penalty later, once Bones was back safe and sound.

He didn't dare consider the possibility that James wasn't involved. If that was the case... then there were too many options for him to chase. How many killers had they put behind bars? How many people might want to come after her for their cases or her work? How many people could go after her because of things he had done?

How many psychos out there were there, that didn't need any motive at all to snatch a beautiful woman from the sidewalk outside of an airport?

He shivered at the thought.

The lack of a ransom message only left him those two options, though. Either it was personal... or this was something far worse than he wanted to think about.

"What are we supposed to do, then, wait it out?" Max demanded incredulously.

None of them had a good answer for that one, but Booth was working on one.

They needed to be doing something. _He_ needed to be doing something.

So he started to delegate.

"Ange, I want you to get into Bones' email account. See if there's anything in there from her stay at Max's anything that maybe our kidnapper could have found. He knows how to hack cell phone's in some way or other—he's probably got the skills to get into her computer."

Angela nodded and spun her chair around to face the nearest computer screen, her fingers landing eagerly on the keys as she started to tap away. Glad of something to _do_.

The rest of the team was looking at him expectantly.

"Hodgins, Harper, pull up the records for our most recent cases. Look for violent priors on family members of people we've put away, or any that have gotten out on early parole. I'll get you into the FBI database."

They nodded, and after they'd pulled up the site he typed in his password and turned back to the others. He honestly didn't know what to do with them, but after a moment another thought occurred to him and he turned to Cam.

"Look into her recent trips, her contacts in the anthropology world... see if she's upset anybody recently. Russ can help you."

Now he was left with an anxious Sweets and an expectant Max.

He chose to ignore the latter and focus on the shrink.

"Alright, Sweets. I need some sort of profile to go off of here."

Sweets opened his mouth and stammered for a moment. "Booth, I'm not sure what I can give you. I've got... very limited information, and..."

"Just give me the best you can."

"Alright," Sweets said skeptically. "This is obviously personal to some degree, and I'd say it wasn't planned out as thoroughly as we might think. Brennan's trip was spontaneous rather than thought out, so our kidnapper either reacted to an opportunity, or was _waiting_ for the opportunity. Maybe there was even a different plan and this one suited his purposes better. He's confident, and he knows what he's doing. We got no calls about an abduction at Dulles, and that's saying something since... well, we all know Brennan. She wouldn't have gone without a fight. I'd say he restrained her in some way, perhaps drugging her or incapacitating her. She wouldn't be on high alert at the airport, so an attack would catch her completely off-guard. He could be physically strong, and most likely is in order to carry this out so efficiently. Either that, or he has help."

"Anything else?"

"The skills with technology suggest a college education, but that's not a definite."

Booth nodded.

"Max," he said firmly, turning back to Brennan's father. "I want you to stay here and keep an eye on things. Sweets, you and me are taking a trip to the airport. The second that order comes through I want to be looking at those security tapes."

"Is the official investigation underway?" Sweets asked, cutting off Max before he could even start to argue with this plan.

"Tanner's given me some leverage. That could change when he wakes up in the morning and actually thinks about it, though. So I want this as far along as possible by then. I'm in charge of the investigation into her disappearance for now." _And for as long as it takes_, he added silently. Tanner could put someone else in charge; it wouldn't matter. No order could make Booth drop this one, personal or not. He was getting Bones back, regardless of the consequences. If that meant losing his job... then that was a price he was willing to pay.

"Sounds like a plan," Sweets said, his eyes firm and sincere. He was in on this, no matter what, as well. Booth could see that.

They left Max there, looking somewhat peeved but without a reason to fight them on it, and headed straight for Booth's SUV.

It was weird, traveling with the psychologist. He wasn't used to working in the field with him—but then again, this didn't feel like a field assignment at all, to begin with. This felt like the end of the world. He drove like it, too, putting on the siren even though there was really no current emergency to get to. Sweets didn't comment, just cast him a look that held no argument in it before turning his face back towards the window.

He knew the route well, from all of his travels, and he took the shortcuts even though the traffic was nearly nonexistent at the early hour. Still, it was almost four o'clock when he finally pulled into the parking lot, and he was feeling more exhausted than he had before despite how refreshing it had been to get out and be _doing_ something rather than standing around feeling helpless.

The road had been getting blurry in front of him, even if he hadn't been afraid of falling asleep. Nothing could have made him fall asleep. Not while this was going on.

He barely waited for Sweets as he jumped out and slammed the door shut behind him. The shrink was jogging to keep up, and Booth didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that. He could hear the younger man's shiny shoes slapping the pavement and his puffs of breath. Booth didn't even break a sweat, the adrenaline, fueled by fear, doing everything for him.

The airport, unlike the streets they'd taken, was crowded albeit subdued. People waited on delays or argued with the customer service representatives behind the counters, and a few families were struggling with cranky children as they tugged their luggage towards escalators.

Sweets caught up with him after they went through the revolving doors, and together they headed for the service counter. Booth flashed his badge and cut the line, earning a few angry huffs from those waiting. As he explained the situation to the woman, Sweets observed their surroundings. He hadn't been here as much as Booth or Brennan had, clearly.

"I'm sorry," the woman, who's name turned out to be Rosie, informed him crisply. "I can't release any video to you without either imminent threat to national security... or a subpoena."

He nodded, "Yeah, I know that. Which is why I'm going to stand right over there..." he pointed to a set of benches next to the fountain, "And wait for the call."

She pursed her lips. "You do that."

Seizing Sweets by the arm, he dragged him away with him, leaving Rosie to tend to the rest of her customers. The next one, a beefy man with a large mustache, immediately began waving his hands and demanding to know when his plane was going to take off.

Booth almost felt sorry for her as he watched her handle him similarly to how he'd just been dealt with. What a job. But he had bigger things to focus on.

The call he received first, though, was not to tell him he had the go-ahead.

"Booth, I got into her email," Angela informed him.

"What do you have?"

"Don't get mad, but there really isn't anything useful in her account. She was in contact with her publisher about returning to the Kathy and Andy books—which she didn't tell me about—and all the rest is related to her work. Nothing seems suspicious, and I had Cam look over and she said it was all on the up-and-up."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"Wait, that's not all," she said quickly, before he could hang up.

Hodgins' voice came through the phone, now.

"Harper and I found some possibilities; we're sending the files to your PDA now."

"Alright, good. Thanks." That would give him something to do, at least. "Angela?"

"Yeah, still here."

"Look into financials of everyone on that list, alright? See if there's anything out of place. Even the slightest odd transaction... I want to know about it."

"On it," she said swiftly.

Booth snapped the phone shut, not bothering with a farewell.

"What's happening?" Sweets asked from beside him. Booth had almost forgotten about his presence.

He pulled out his PDA and switched to his email, pulling up the newest one and downloading the information Hodgins had attached for him.

"Nothing in the email, but Hodgins found some suspects from her past."

Sweets nodded and leaned closer, prompting Booth to grudgingly turn the device so he could look as well.

The first one on the list was really no surprise. Horace Prichard was a hulking frame of a man with a temper to match. His sister had killed her abusive husband and tried to cover it up, meaning she'd gotten off on self-defense but had still had to serve time for lying to the FBI. Horace had not been pleased, sending a few threatening letters that Booth had been kind enough to prosecute him for. He hadn't exactly gotten the message, or taken the offer of peace. But until now, Booth had forgotten about him. It had been at least five months ago since the trial, after all.

The next was Oliver Laurier, who Booth hadn't even thought about in over a decade. Hodgins had had the forethought to look into him, though, and found he had turned into an alcoholic with a drug problem, and he had just gotten out of prison a month ago after serving two years for a DUI that lasted all of the thirty seconds it took him to back into a tree. He'd gotten a very unsympathetic judge. Recent activity showed he'd been busy on the web since his return, and he still held a great interest in Brennan's books and her life.

Booth shivered unpleasantly, and moved ahead before Sweets could start asking questions. He hadn't been around to meet Laurier, and he didn't feel like explaining at the moment.

Damien Kenton was the last promising one he found in the file, after scrolling through several others and writing them off as possibilities. Damien was a man Booth had met once himself, but he didn't know him well enough to judge him. He was the brother of Jamie Kenton, the agent-turned-mobster who had attempted to kill Brennan to cover up his involvement in the Cugeni killing. Booth hadn't forgotten him, and had felt a small ounce of satisfaction when he had been killed in prison before he even reached trial. He hadn't stood a chance really, even in solitary. That was one mystery the prison hadn't bothered looking into, and Booth couldn't blame them. Anyone in the place could have been paid off to perform the hit. Kenton hadn't stood a chance.

Apparently, Damien blamed him and Brennan for the death of his brother and the heart attack that the pair's mother had suffered shortly afterwards that had left her comatose. One bad thing after another had rained down on him after the arrest, even though he'd had nothing to do with his brother's mob-affiliation.

"What do you think?" he asked at last, turning to the shrink with a raised eyebrow.

"They've all got promise," Sweets agreed. "Laurier was stalking her? How come neither of you mentioned that?"

"Because it wasn't pertinent," Booth said firmly. "Not then, at least. He fell of our radar after the instance with the murders that matched up with her books."

Sweets opened his mouth, and Booth raised a hand.

"Don't ask, okay? Just... focus on what's happening now."

"Fine, then. I'll tell you what I know."

"Which is..?"

"I evaluated Kenton," he said simply, looking at Booth seriously. "After the incident."

"And you never thought to mention that to _us?"_ Booth asked incredulously.

Sweets shook his head. "I never made the connection. It was two years before I met either of you, and I was only an intern at the time. I more... sat in on the evaluation than actually performed it myself," he added lamely. "But I asked a few questions, and I took notes. I remember it very well. I just... never could place where I had heard Dr. Brennan's name before, after I met the two of you for sessions. I knew it sounded familiar."

"How does this help us?"

"Kenton spoke highly of his brother, and his family in general. They didn't grow up with much, and Damien became very successful. He was proud of him, but internally resented him as well. He needed to re-assert his control and his abilities to support their parents financially, and his greed got the better of him. He got in too deep, and couldn't get out. He also expressed a lot of relief that he had been unsuccessful in killing her. He knew, after the fact, that it would have done no good because you were on your way and you knew it was him. Killing her would have been pointless."

Booth ground his teeth together. "That doesn't change it, Sweets."

"Oh, I know it doesn't. But... like his brother, it would seem that Damien wanted to shoulder the weight. He would have resented his brother, in all likelihood, if he hadn't been so remorseful. But because of that detail... he changed the focus of his blame to the people he deemed responsible. You and Dr. Brennan."

"Alright, then why hasn't he acted before? Do you know how _long_ it's been, Sweets?"

"I'm well-aware, which is why I think he's the least likely of the three you've picked out here. And, in all honesty... none of them stand out to me."

"What angle are you coming from, then? Who do you think did this?"

"I would say her ex-husband, if there wasn't so much to contradict it. He has the most motive, her being the mother of his child and the only obstacle towards keeping Nick to himself. Despite being a complete asshole, he's a protective father."

Booth was pretty sure he'd never heard Sweets swear, and he was thrown for a moment by how matter-of-factly the psychologist had just done so. He was being completely honest, though, and Booth couldn't have agreed with his wording more.

They were both silent for a moment, and Booth thought over his next question, turning it over and over in his mind and trying to force himself to say the words.

"Do you think she's alive?" he whispered finally, staring straight ahead and watching the arrivals board blink and change every few seconds.

Sweets shifted in his seat, twisting his tie in his hands.

"The odds... aren't good," he said at last.

Booth bowed his head. Sweets was being honest, and he tried to appreciate it. But... reality was not working for him. Bones couldn't be gone.

"It all depends on who took her," Sweets added tentatively. "If this is... revenge, or James wanting her out of the way..." he let his words hang, and Booth knew what he meant.

If that was the case, then Brennan had been dead for days now.

"And the other option?" he voiced hoarsely. He knew all of this, himself. He was a well-trained agent. But... he needed to hear it from someone else. To make it real. Because if it came out of his own head... he didn't trust it. Still, though, he knew what Sweets was going to say before he said it. And he didn't like it anymore from the shrink than he did from his own thoughts.

"The other option... is that she's alive because they need her alive."

Booth bit into his lip and forced a nod.

He didn't like either of the options. And he didn't like thinking about what she might be going through right now, if she was still alive.

What was being done to her?

His cell phone rang, and he glanced down at it in surprise, having nearly forgotten what he was waiting for. The number was from the office, and he straightened up and gave Sweets a look before he answered, standing up as he did so. It was time to move forward on this.

He was going to find her, no matter what that meant.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Her eyes blinked open slowly, and she became aware of the darkness. And a steady dripping sound, nearby, close to her head. She closed her eyes again, taking a rattling breath that broke the silence and sent shivers down her spine.

The silence was safer.

Her body ached from lying in the same position, and she carefully leveraged herself with her elbows so that she could turn onto her side and get off of her back. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut tighter as pain seared through her lower half.

_A knife traced up her leg, the tip pricking her kneecap. A soft laugh as she twitched in response, and then a slice. Her scream flew out before she could stop it, and eyes shone in the shadows, a smile dancing in them. _

She bent her body to reach her shackled hands down to find the place on the back of her leg. A makeshift bandage was knotted around it, and she could smell the thick blood that coated it, and feel the edges where it was still wet especially where it had seeped into the fabric of her jeans.

Her head fell back onto the pillow as she readjusted her position and let her hands fall loosely behind her. The chains clinked, and she swallowed. Her throat was dry, her mouth was dry, her lips were dry. There had been water, at the start. She couldn't remember how long ago that was.

When she had first awoken, she hadn't known what had happened. The last thing she remembered, the last thing she _still_ remembered, was touching down at the airport. She had stood to get her things from the above compartment, and had helped a woman across the aisle who was struggling with hers. The woman's little girl had grinned up at her curiously, licking a lollipop. She remembered thinking that it was green, and she had liked green lollipops as a child. She used to get them on trips to the bank with her mother.

She did not remember getting off the plane, but she suspected that was due to whatever drug she had been subdued with, and not because that was when she had been taken. It was illogical to think they had gotten her off the plane unconscious. In all likelihood, there were events after that which she could not remember carrying out. Maybe she'd gotten her luggage.

She did not remember finding Booth, and she was sure she hadn't. If she had come into contact with Booth, this wouldn't have happened. There was no way it would have happened.

So, sometime in between getting off that plane and finding Booth, she had been drugged and taken away.

She didn't know what day it was, but it felt like a week, maybe more. She knew from experience that the passage of time was difficult in conditions like this. Most likely, it had only been two or three days. Perhaps four. Last time, it had been three when she had thought it to be a week. She trusted her gut, on this at least, to be off by the same as it had been last time.

There was no one in the room with her, she noted as her eyes adjusted to the darkness with help from the small amount of light seeping in through the door at the top of the stairs.

A heavy grinding sound filled the air, and she jumped even though she had heard it more times than she could count. She still hadn't identified what it was, only that it sounded like a train, or a machine. Maybe she was near a subway tunnel.

Her captor was careful to keep his identity a secret. She had only been visited a few times, and each had left her blind with terror, but she still did not know his face. He shone a flashlight into her face as he came down the stairs on each visit, and the stairs would creak loudly as he came. The sound had echoed, creating the illusion that an army was approaching. The roaring, grinding sound didn't help.

Most of what she could see included the bed she was on, which was truly a thin mattress aligned with the wall—where the shackle chain was mounted—and the dirty surroundings filled with what appeared to be tools and junk. The entire right side was pitch black, blocked off because of the angle from which the light under the stairs reached her.

There was no way to know how big this place was, or what lay in those shadows.

A second mattress was propped against the wall beside the stairs.

It was covered in blood, and she tried not to focus on it, or how the mattress she lay on was starting to match it.

She was not the first. She doubted she would be the last.

Alone for the moment, she weighed her options. She had fought the shackles, hard, the first time she had awakened. There was nothing she could do about them, and they weren't like standard handcuffs. Breaking her thumbs would not allow her to slide them off; they were far too tight for that. They barely moved on her wrists at all, no matter what she did to them. Her skin ached where the cold metal cut into it.

Her ankles were bound with rope, which was scratchy but at least less restricting than the shackles. She remembered something Booth had said, long ago. The Maggie Schilling case, with the girl who had been bound in that couple's basement for days on end. Booth had told her that the defense's story didn't hold up, because if she had been bound consensually, her legs wouldn't have been tied like that.

It gave her a small amount of hope.

He had not yet raped her. And as long as her legs were bound... there was less chance he would. Clearly, though, he got off on hurting her. There was no telling how long that would last, or what extremes he might go to.

She trembled slightly, even as she tried to keep herself calm.

If she started panicking, she was never going to get out of here alive. She needed to focus. She needed to be prepared, and the moment there was a chance... she was going to escape.

Voices, muffled voices, sounded above her head. This, like the roaring sound, was normal. She had tried screaming to no avail, and had received a blow to the head as her reward when he came for her. After that, she had stopped screaming. The voices weren't a good sign. They either couldn't or wouldn't help her... and calling for them only made her captor angry.

At the reminder of that particular blow, the dripping sound came back to the front of her mind, and she realized numbly that her pillow was wet. In the darkness she could just make out the pool gathering on the edge of the mattress.

The dripping was from the blood. It was slipping over the edge and falling onto the cold cement.

One drop at a time.

**Phew. That was harder to write than I had thought beforehand.  
**

**Thank you for reading, really. This story has gotten such a marvellous response, and I love seeing just how many people are reading. It brightens my day. **

**Share your thoughts! I'm always curious to see what people are thinking as I go forward with this. **

**IMPORTANT WARNING: As with most of my stories, this one has dark themes. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that before. If you're generally fine with my stories and angst and kidnapping stories in general, and you don't want spoilers, don't read onwards in this author's note.  
**

**For those of you worried about where I'm heading, this will get dark and emotional and painful. But there will be no sexual assault in this story, so you do not need to worry about that, if stories of that nature usually upset you. Thought I'd give a heads up. **


	26. Into the Fire

**A/N: Alright, here we go. **_  
_

_Chapter 25: Into the Fire_

_Come on, come on  
Put your hands into the fire  
Explain, explain  
As I turn and meet the power  
This time, this time  
Turning white and senses dire  
Pull up, pull up  
From one extreme to another_

_From the summer to the spring_  
_From the mountain to the air_  
_From Samaritan to sin_  
_And it's waiting on the end_

_July 14__th__, 2018_

Booth glared through the one-way mirror at James' blank expression. The other man stared emptily at the opposite wall, giving him nothing to go off of. There was no smug exterior, and he looked paler than normal, but Booth couldn't place him in this.

He was one of the most confusing, infuriating men Booth had ever met, and it would be fair to say he hated him close to as much as he hated his father. If he knew or was involved in what had happened to Brennan... then he'd be easily taking the lead. For now, though, Booth could only stare at him trying to hide his helplessness.

Sweets was to the side, speaking lowly with Tanner. Everyone else on the team was still at the lab save for Angela, who had gone straight to Brennan's old home the moment word of James' interrogation had gotten to her. The nanny was with Nick, but Angela seemed to be struggling with finding ways to help, and this was the best thing she could do at the moment. If she couldn't help find Brennan, she would do something _for_ Brennan.

The financials had been a lost cause, not that he'd expected any differently. There was nothing even remotely suspicious, and he knew she was furious with herself for not being able to find the detail that blew the case open. There was nothing she could have done, though.

Booth wasn't having much luck on his end, either.

The surveillance tapes hadn't given him much, other than that Brennan had been drugged. Whoever this was, they knew the surveillance system well enough to avoid having their face shown, and had been in a gap between cameras when they had struck. In one frame, she was walking purposefully towards the luggage return, her back to the camera and her phone in her hand. Presumably texting Booth to ask him where he was. Behind her approached a tall man with a hood up over his head.

When the next camera picked her up, she was stumbling slightly, a hand reaching up to her neck. If he hadn't been looking for it, he'd have missed it. The man in the sweatshirt came up beside her, and her head turned towards him. The image wasn't clear enough for him to make out the expression on her face, but he knew it must be shock. Or fear. She staggered slightly, and he caught her arm, pulling her towards him like he knew her. Like he was helping.

A moment later another camera picked them up heading out of the airport. She was tugging to get away, but it was obvious she was dizzy and disoriented. They vanished into a van and pulled away.

No markings. No plates.

The last image of her, and he had frozen it there with his jaw clenched, was her face, staring back towards the building as the man held both of her arms and pushed her through the sliding door of the van. Her hair was flying out behind her, and her mouth was open.

He knew, even without sound, that she would have been trying to scream. And he could tell, from the lack of attention of those around them... that she hadn't been able to.

The image terrified him at the same time as it told him that this involved more than one player. There was an accomplice, at the very least, who had been driving that van. There was no telling how big this actually was, or what the motive might be.

He kept solace in the fact that they hadn't found a body yet. He had notified all the local hospitals to be on the lookout, as well as the morgues. The ringing of his phone, now, became a curse and a blessing. He was scared to answer—to hear something that he didn't want to hear.

James had not called for his lawyers when Booth and Charlie had gone to pick him up for questioning. That had been the first sign that there was something off. Now, as Tanner turned to him and gave him the nod, he was going to find out what it was.

He didn't speak a word as he headed for the door, barely spending a moment in the hallway before he opened the other door and entered the interrogation room. Normally, there was a sense of being watched through the mirror. It didn't hamper his questions, but it was present. Today, it was a powerful steadier. He could not handle this in any way but professionally. No matter what James said or did, no matter what he snidely commented about Brennan... Booth could not pin him against a wall by his throat and demand answers.

He pulled out the chair and seated himself, straightening his tie.

"Do you know why we picked you up this morning?" Booth asked.

"No," James answered stiffly. "I've got no idea, actually. Are you going to explain?"

Yet again, he didn't ask for his lawyers, or even threaten to call them.

"Your ex-wife is missing," Booth answered, stressing each word. "What do you know about that, Mr. Turner?"

"Tempe's missing?" James responded, his eyebrows flying up. "Since when? What happened?"

That sounded a bit rehearsed, but there was a note of panic that didn't quite match 'guilty.' There was concern there. Genuine concern. Booth wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Since Wednesday," Booth filled him in, leaning back in his chair. "You know, she was going for an appeal on the custody decision. Did that worry you?"

"That was months away, if it happened at all. I don't understand, why am I here?"

"Because you're the guy with the most to lose. Where were you Wednesday?"

"I was... I was at work. All day. I had a board meeting in the morning, and then an error in a memo kept me late."

Booth frowned. He hated the guy. He really did. But he wasn't getting the right responses. There was guilt, now, that was seeping through. But it wasn't the right kind. He wasn't afraid of getting caught. He wasn't afraid of being here without his lawyers. Something else had him on edge, and suddenly Booth wondered if this was something else, something he hadn't considered.

"Have you received any sort of threat, Mr. Turner? Did you ever receive threats while you were married to Dr. Brennan?"

"My company gets threats as much as any other. But... I've never gotten threats that included Tempe. You think this is because of my business? Even after we got the divorce?"

Booth almost wished he'd go back to being the jackass. The concerned, panicked James was not suiting him at all—he didn't know what to do with him. He could handle the jackass.

"I'll be back," Booth ground out, and shoved his chair away from the table. He was back in the observation room in seconds, to find that only Sweets still remained. "Well?" he demanded.

"I don't know what you want me to say," the shrink answered, his eyes still locked on their only suspect, who was quickly falling from first on the list. And yet, there was something _off_ about him that Booth just couldn't place. Sweets had seen it, too. "He's hiding something, but I don't think he kidnapped her. He knows more than he's saying... and that's making him feel guilty. But yet, he's afraid. I'm willing to bet he's involved somehow, but maybe not as a part of the abduction. He might be another victim in this."

Booth closed his eyes. That was the last thing he wanted to hear.

"And how do we get him to spill, if he's more afraid of somebody out there than he is of us?"

"Threaten to release him?" Sweets suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Booth sighed. "Or just plain release him," he muttered. "We don't have anything on him, and he's wasting my time. It's not like I can't find him if I need him later."

Sweets shrugged. "Go for it. I think we should get back to the lab, though. Angela called a moment ago, and she's bringing Nick to the lab. I told her my suspicions about James, and I believe the child will be safer in the Jeffersonian. Angela as well, if she's with him."

"You think this might involve their whole family?"

"There's no way of telling," Sweets said regretfully. "For now, though, better safe than sorry."

"Yeah," Booth agreed lowly.

This whole situation was killing him, and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it.

In the other room, they watched as James answered his phone. He started speaking urgently, and Booth reached over to flip on the sound.

"No," James was saying. "I'm fine by myself here, I don't help. I don't _know_ where she is. I can't help them. I've got nothing to tell them." A pause. "I didn't. Of course."

He hung up, and then turned towards the mirror. He knew they were watching, listening.

But he didn't seem upset by that. He just looked really, really pale.

Booth frowned. "Alright, cut him loose. And then meet me back at the lab."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

When he re-entered the air conditioned building, he found Angela's wide screen out on the platform. As he got closer, he realized a makeshift timeline was scrawled across it, and the artist was still making edits on her tablet with the rest of the team gathered around.

An unexpected face turned to meet him as he came up the stairs.

"Zach!"

"Hello, Agent Booth," the squint answered calmly, blinking at him.

"I called him," Cam explained.

"I was nearby," Zach added pointedly. "When I heard of the situation, I got a ride over as soon as I could."

Booth nodded. "Well, I'm glad you're here." He looked around at all the expectant faces that were focused on him. "We need all the help we can get."

"What did that scum have to say?" Angela asked, her eyes flashing.

"Nothing useful," Booth answered heavily. "Sweets doesn't think he was behind it. But he knows something."

"Yeah, he told me on the phone," Angela said impatiently. "But... he's going to tell us, right? I mean, you're going to get it out of him?"

"He's not talking, not until I get something else on him. Which is what I need all of you for."

Cam gestured to the timeline, and Angela launched into it.

"We know from the video you linked us to that she was... abducted at approximately one o'clock on Wednesday afternoon. The plane ticket for Spain was paid for with her credit card online yesterday, shortly after her original plane was scheduled to land. There were no other purchases on her credit card since then."

"Have you looked into James?" Booth asked suddenly, an idea striking him.

Angela frowned, shaking her head. "No, just the suspects you told me to check up on. Should I start a scan on his financials as well?"

Booth nodded slowly. "Yes, do that when we're done here."

Their attention went back to the screen once again, and the focus of the group shifted there as well. He stared at the gaping hole that made up the past two days. They knew nothing, nothing at all, about what had happened to her in that time.

Max, sitting off to the side silently, seemed to be brewing about that same detail. He was glaring at the timeline harshly enough for that to be evident.

"Beyond that," Angela continued hesitantly, her expression somber as she looked at the very lacking information before them, "We know that her cell phone was turned off or destroyed shortly after the ticket was purchased."

"And that's it," Hodgins finished heavily, frustration hovering in his tone. "That's all we know."

The mood was dark and disheartened on the platform.

Booth's cell phone suddenly going off was like a pin dropping. Several of the team jumped as it broke the silence, and he yanked it from his pocket and held it up to his ear, turning and pacing away from the group as he answered, "Booth."

"Hey, it's me," said Sweets' voice from the other end, "We've got Laurier in for questioning, and they're bringing Kenton in shortly."

That explained why the psychologist had never showed up.

"Alright, I'll be there shortly," he answered, and hung up, turning back to the others. They all stared at him expectantly. "We've got a couple suspects in custody. I'm going to go join in on the interrogations, see what we can get from them."

Cam was the one that nodded firmly. "Keep us informed," she said, her eyes sweeping over their gathering. The darkness hung like a cloud, and the exhaustion was wearing at all of them. Dragging them down. Booth could feel it like a physical presence in the air.

As he departed, a few lab techs walked past. A reminder that for some, this was still a normal day. They were going about their work, weaving around the platform where his tired and fearful friends were huddled.

At the Hoover, it was no different.

Phones were ringing and papers were shuffling as he strode through the bullpen. The fax machine flashed and a desk jockey banged his hand against the side of an uncooperative copier that was probably older than he was.

The hallway outside of the interrogation rooms, at least, was quiet and empty save for the skinny shrink, who was leaned against the wall clutching a coffee. His hair was unkempt and he was unshaved. Booth still found it odd that the young man could even grow facial hair, but he didn't focus on it.

"Who's first?" he said instead, and the psychologist nodded towards the first door.

"Laurier is in there. I thought you'd like to start with him. And if you don't mind, I'd like to sit in."

Booth shrugged, unfazed. Any help was good help at this point.

Oliver Laurier was still a twitchy man. That was the first thing Booth noticed as they entered the room. Today he didn't feel like he was being watched, as he walked across and pulled out his usual chair across the table from the greasy-haired man. Sweets was with him, and he had seen the boss in his office, in the middle of a phone call, as he'd walked past on his way here. They were alone.

Sweets pulled out his own chair as Booth regarded Laurier calmly.

Laurier spoke first, as he'd been expecting.

"I don't know why I'm here," he murmured impatiently. His eyes were bugged out. Booth remembered that, as well, from their previous dealings.

"You been following Dr. Brennan again, Oliver?" Booth asked, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers on the table. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"No," Laurier denied at once. "Of course not. I follow the restraining order; I'm _not_ going back to jail."

"Ah, but you still like keeping up with her, don't you? Your internet activity certainly shows it."

"Keep out of my business," Laurier snapped desperately. "You have no right to go through my computer—"

"Public. Forums." Booth said, pronouncing each word firmly and pointedly.

Laurier wilted. "I have rights," he tried, but it was a meager attempt to regain face. He didn't expect it to work, and he was correct.

"You aren't the man we want," Sweets said, speaking for the first time. "We know that. But... you might still know something. It's in your best interest to cooperate."

Laurier's gaze shifted back and forth between the two men opposite him. "What do you want to know?" he asked suspiciously, at long last.

"Where did Dr. Brennan go this past week?" Sweets asked, taking charge of the interview. For once, Booth was content to watch, to read the reactions of the other man.

"New Hampshire," Laurier answered at once. "She was visiting her father, after that massacre of a divorce settlement."

Well, he was well-informed. Booth suspected that was why Sweets had asked the question—to test and see if he was just making claims out of desperation to feel close to her. But no, he was still very focused on her. Booth would have been furious if he wasn't already focused on the bigger picture—the more dangerous, present risk she was in, that likely had nothing to do with this scummy stalker.

"When did she get back?"

"She was supposed to return yesterday," Laurier answered, cutting his eyes towards Booth as if he was still expecting to be attacked for knowing this information. He could probably sense the resentment behind Booth's calm exterior. "But... she came back early."

"When?" This time, Booth spoke the question. A low demand.

Laurier swallowed. "Wednesday," he said. "I was... waiting outside... where she was staying. But she never came back. I swear."

"My place," Booth filled in for him. "You were waiting outside _my place_."

Laurier opened and closed his mouth. The weasel wasn't going to apologize, so he had no idea what to say in response to that.

"Did you see anything?" Sweets demanded, a glint in his eye. He'd picked up on something; caught a lead that Booth hadn't seen. It was then that he knew welcoming the psychologist in with him had been a good idea.

"Now that you mention it... there was this van that pulled up and parked. A guy got out and he went inside."

Booth and Sweets turned to look at each other simultaneously.

"What did he look like?" Booth asked.

"I didn't see his face; he was wearing some sort of hood over his head."

"What was he driving?" Sweets threw in. This time, Laurier thought a moment and then perked up, his eyes flashing with a memory.

"It was one of those white vans. The type that you look at and you think that there's something weird about it. You know, the ones you watch closely when you walk by them."

Booth swallowed. "And you say this was about the time when you were expecting her to return?"

"Yeah, her flight got in at one, and this was about one forty-five heading towards two. With traffic... I thought she'd be back any time around then."

"What did the guy do, exactly?"

"He went inside the building. Came out pretty quick, hands in his pockets. Trying to look casual, but he stood out. I should know.

"And then?"

"He went around and got in the passenger side, and they drove off."

"Was there anything about the van? Anything different, distinguishing?"

"It didn't have any plates," Laurier said, tipping his head to the side. "Does that help?"

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth nearly threw his fist into the wall once they were back out into the hallway with the door shut behind them.

"She was there," he said, fuming as he paced. "She was right outside my apartment in that van. If I'd gone home, if I'd _been_ there..."

"Then they wouldn't have stopped, Booth," Sweets murmured cautiously. "They'd have kept driving. What did they want at your building that day? We know they didn't take the bags until Friday."

"The key," Booth said suddenly, after pacing another moment and wracking his brain. "They had to have been looking for a way to get in efficiently. Preparing for Friday."

"So they took the key two days in advance?"

"Probably... wait, no. No. Sweets, I locked myself out on Thursday, when I stepped out to tell Parker something as he was leaving. I could have called him back and had him let me in, but I just grabbed the key from the rock. It was still _there_."

"So maybe they didn't find it, or they chose to leave it."

"It doesn't matter," Booth said, shaking his head. "They were there, and she was in that van, unconscious, right outside my building."

"There's nothing you could have done," Sweets insisted.

Shaking his head again, Booth ignored him and moved with new purpose towards the door to the second interrogation room. If he didn't do something productive, he was going to lose it. And right now, this was as close to productive as he was going to get, even if it felt very much like he was running hopelessly in circles. He knew, and Sweets knew, that these interviews weren't getting them anywhere. The kidnappers weren't here, they were still out there.

They were still free, and they were the only ones who knew where Bones was.

Damien Kenton was far less intimidated by Booth than Laurier had been. He glanced up when they entered, but generally looked bored as they took their seats.

"You know, Jamie never gave me the tour when he worked here. It's nice, though. Cushy. Bet it's changed a bit since you got him killed, though, hasn't it?"

"He got himself killed," Booth answered coolly, leaning back in his chair.

The only one in the room who looked afraid was Sweets, who didn't seem to be sure of where this interview might take them. Damien was a large, tough looking guy. His hands were huge on their own, and a large skull tattoo grinned at them from his bicep. Booth instigating him was probably a bad idea, but he wasn't going to sit here and listen to any crap. If Damien was stupid enough to say anything about Bones... he was going to get a fitting response.

And maybe some time in lockup if he dared to take a swing.

"This about the bone lady?" he asked, leaning forward onto the table.

"Now, how did you figure that one out?"

"I'm not deaf, that's how. It's all anyone in this office was talking about, when they dragged me through. Did she finally get what she deserves, then? And you think I was a part of it?"

Sweets jumped in before Booth could lay into him.

"We just want to know what you've been doing recently. And then you can leave."

"Unfortunately," he stressed the word heavily, "I didn't get the pleasure of being involved in whatever it is that happened to her. And I've just gotten back from a trip to Florida to visit the few remaining relatives I have. So whatever it is... if it happened in the past two weeks... I couldn't have done it. _Unfortunately."_

Booth wanted an excuse to lock him up. He really did. For years, he had wanted someone to focus on, to blame for Bones' near-death experience. Kenton being remorseful had not given him that release, and neither had his death. Nothing had ever made up for the terror-stricken look on her face just before he'd blasted off the shots that took down her captor.

Seeing the agent's brother in person, though, was bringing a lot of those old demons to the surface. And it looked like he'd found someone he could hate in relation to that incident.

"We'll have someone verify that," Sweets informed him, standing up and looking pointedly at Booth. Almost reluctantly, he followed. If they hadn't been so deep into hunting down leads that would bring them to Brennan, Sweets would have likely dug into this with relish. But as it was, once they were back in the hallway neither of them seemed to have much to say.

"We should get back to the lab," Booth pointed out finally, to which Sweets responded with a swift nod.

"Yes, we should. They'll be expecting us. Although... they'll probably be expecting better news than we've got to share."

Booth ran his tongue over his dried lips. "Yeah, well... at least we've got that information from Laurier. We can fill in another gap on the timeline."

The optimism felt hollow, and it showed in Sweets reaction. He nodded, but not with any enthusiasm. "Yeah, the timeline," he agreed.

Booth's phone rang, and he read the caller ID this time before answering.

"Angela, what do you have for me?"

"It might be nothing," she said, but her tone suggested otherwise. Like there had been some sort of break, finally.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"James' financials. There was a large withdrawal, last month. It's explained away as a bunch of smaller things, but something seemed off to me about it."

"How large?"

"Twenty thousand."

Booth whistled lowly. "And what did he do with it?"

"That's the thing. If it was really for the things he claimed it was, the values would have shown up in other sections. None of the investments shows up anywhere else, and because it's his private account and not his business's, nothing looks fishy enough for the bank to look into it. That, and he's probably their favorite member."

"Alright, I'm having him brought back in. I'll see you at the lab later. Thanks."

"Well?" Sweets asked, jogging to keep up as Booth started down the hallway.

"James took out quite a lot of money, in cash, a month ago," Booth explained as they walked. "It looks odd, according to Ange, and I'm inclined to agree with her."

"Any excuse to have him back in custody is a good excuse," Sweets muttered lowly, and Booth gave a short, humorless laugh to show his agreement. He pressed his phone back to his ear as they entered the bullpen.

"Boss, we've got some new leads on Jameson Turner," he began the moment Tanner picked up.

And then his stomach dropped at the next words that came from his boss's mouth.

Numbly, he answered with, "I'll head there right away," before hanging up.

"What?" Sweets asked desperately. "What is it?"

Booth shook his head, and then answered quietly, almost disbelieving the words as they slipped from his mouth: "James is dead. Shot through the head outside a café around the corner from his office."

**I'm pretty sure I said at some point that I dislike James as strongly as everyone else does. But that's only part of why this happened-the plot implications are important as well as my own satisfaction (and yours!)**

**So, let me know what you think. Even if it's only to mention your satisfaction.**


	27. Blue and White

**A/N: I can't thank you all enough for sticking with this story, especially all of you who have been so amazing with your reviews. I appreciate each and every comment that you send my way, and I will be terribly sad to see this story come to a close... we've got less than ten chapters to go, now. Song for this one is Blue and White by Beth Waters. One of my personal favorites. **_  
_

_Chapter 26: Blue and White_

_In the dark and the light  
In the blue and the white  
Something's pure that I am missing  
Something's sure that I am not  
Holding back and never letting you see_

_Light a match in the dark now_  
_See my shadow on the wall_  
_Doesn't look too much like me_  
_No it's not like me at all_  
_Pour over what you wrote_  
_And the letters burn the page_  
_I see all the things you meant to me_  
_In the things you didn't say_

_July 14__th__, 2018_

The mood at the lab was somber when Booth returned. The team had been notified, of course. They all looked up, eyes widened with expectations, as he came in the doors and headed for the platform. None of them got up to greet him; they all just watched and waited for his arrival among them.

"They're connected, right?" Angela asked insistently, when he had climbed the stairs, and Booth nodded stiffly.

"Of course they are," Sweets said, before Booth could confirm out loud for them. "There's no way this is a coincidence."

"Then this really is some sort of revenge scheme against him, and Dr. B. got tangled up in it," Hodgins said, his gaze shifting from face to face. The dark circles under his eyes were much more prominent now, and Booth imagined he didn't look much better himself.

Again, Sweets cut in before Booth could answer.

"Not necessarily. I said before that James knew something. His death... could mean that he needed to be disposed of to avoid exposure."

Booth followed Angela's dark gaze as the two men began to debate different theories, and found that she was watching her office, where Nicholas was seated quietly on her couch, coloring in her sketchpad. The poor kid had no clue what was going on—his father was dead, his mother was missing—he had virtually turned into an orphan in a matter of minutes.

He shoved that thought away. Bones was alive. She was coming back to them, and she was going to be there to watch her son grow up.

"He's going to be okay," a voice beside him said, and he turned in surprise to find his own son standing there.

"I hope so," Booth sighed, and realized that the team had fallen silent once again. Some of them were looking at him expectantly, hoping he'd start dictating again, giving them something to do. The others were lost in themselves, and Angela was still staring at Nick, her eyes swimming.

He didn't know what to do. What could he tell them? They had exhausted every resource he could come up with, and their last lead had just had his brains spattered all across the sidewalk.

The scene had been ugly, when he'd gotten there. Police tape had covered the area and the cars in the street, their light bars flashing brightly, were stopping traffic. A few uniforms had been waving cars onto a detour. But that wasn't what had hit him. It was the body that lay sprawled there, spread-eagle, staring upwards blankly.

He had been speaking to this man only hours prior. He should have been upset by the shock and horror of seeing him dead. But instead, he was just hit by the fact that this was something he hadn't been able to prevent. Something he hadn't gotten to the bottom of beforehand. If he had just squeezed a little harder, if he had said something more, something to make him crack... he might have gotten what he needed. He might have a lead to follow, instead of a fresh murder.

And that train of thought had almost made him more sick. This time with himself.

Still, standing now in the lab with the light in the sky fading and sending them once more into helpless darkness... he couldn't think of anything else. James had known something, and he was sure of it. He was also sure that Sweets was right—this was about Brennan, and James had been involved. Not the other way around.

Whoever had done this wasn't afraid to kill to protect themselves.

He opened his mouth, and everyone seemed to know to turn towards him before he even spoke.

"We don't know who did this," he began. "But whoever this is... they aren't working alone. They planned ahead, but not as thoroughly as they'd probably intended. They went to my apartment the day they took Bones from that airport, and they looked for a way to get in, so they could take her things on the day she was supposed to return. They know to keep their faces hidden, so they must know where there are cameras, too. At least one of them is a decent marksman. The shot that killed Turner was close and level, probably from across the street. Maybe from the white van we know they use. They aren't afraid to get their hands dirty, and they'll do anything they can to protect themselves from discovery. This means that by working this case, you're all putting yourselves in danger. The minute we get too close, they'll try to take us down."

"I'm in this no matter what," Angela said, her eyes flaming with the intensity of her conviction.

"Same here," Hodgins agreed, and the rest followed with a chorus of eager concurrence.

Booth nodded. He'd never doubted any of them, but he'd needed them to be aware.

"Keep an eye out if you leave the museum. Look for white vans. I don't want anyone else in harm's way." The thought of any of them lying on the sidewalk like he had seen James this evening sent shivers down his spine. He swallowed heavily. "That being said, though, our killers have given something away today. Sweets?"

The shrink jumped slightly, and then stood up from the chair he had collapsed into.

"I told Booth on the ride back over here... our killers are methodical. There's even a chance they planned to kill James long ago. From James' attitude in that interrogation room earlier today, I can now tell that he _knew_ whoever this was. And he was afraid of them, although probably only recently did he realize he had reason to be concerned. My best guess? He was in on this, and he didn't realize just how far his companions were willing to go."

"So, like... he wanted her out of the way to keep her from getting Nick back?" Hodgins suggested.

"Possibly. He might not have even thought there would be a kidnapping. And I think James might have even wanted to tell us the truth earlier, but he was too afraid to do so. Afraid of what they'd do to him... and rightly so, given how he ended up after keeping his mouth _shut_."

"Alright, so we should be looking into James' business dealings," Cam said firmly. "See who he had contact with recently that might be capable of this."

"Yes," Booth agreed, relief seeping into his tone. It was good to have direction again, to be moving forward. Anything that might help them, at this point, was a godsend in his eyes.

The squints settled down at the different computer stations and got to work, and suddenly he felt useless again, just pacing. Max, though, provided the distraction he needed when the man reappeared with Russ in tow.

"What's changed?" he demanded at once, clutching a steaming cup of coffee. Booth glanced at it, and Max set it down quickly, before he crushed it and burnt the both of them. Clearly, Angela had sent him off to keep him busy while they were at a dead-end.

He took the older man by the arm and led him down from the platform, holding his hand behind him to show Russ that he was not to follow. They went down from the platform and crossed the space to Brennan's office, where he firmly shut the door behind him.

There was something that he needed to clear up. Something he had to be sure of.

"James is dead," he said stiffly. Max's eyebrows shot up, and he sputtered in shock, but Booth wasn't quite convinced. Brennan's father or not, he was a conman. A professional liar. "I need to know, right now, if you had anything to do with that."

"Booth, I haven't left this building—"

"Did you have anything to do with it?" Booth repeated. "Your daughter's life is on the line, here. And if you lie to me about this, and she doesn't live... I won't arrest you_. I'll kill you_. Are we clear?"

"How did he die?" Max demanded, ignoring Booth's question.

He ground his teeth together. "Shot in the head," he answered.

"Well, there's your answer," Max said, raising his hands.

"Max, I know you can handle a gun."

"No, not that. Jeez. I meant that you wouldn't have found him, if I was behind this. And I certainly wouldn't have given him such an easy escape, after all the pain he put Tempe through."

Booth had to admit that he was right. Max Keenan was a protector who killed quickly to get rid of a problem... but James wasn't a threat. Or at least, they hadn't thought he was, before. If Max was involved... this would have been a revenge killing. It wouldn't have ended like this.

He nodded briskly.

"Alright," he said. "I believe you."

"As you should," Max answered, shaking his head sadly. "Tempe... needs me to be a better father. And that doesn't involve killing her ex for her. Even if I was willing."

"You talked about it?"

"It... came up while she was visiting, if that's what you mean."

Booth nodded. He wasn't about to ask for any more details about that particular conversation. But there was something else he wanted to talk about.

"Max... how was she? When she was visiting you, I mean. Did she... did she seem happy?"

He smiled, a crooked, sad sort of smile.

"You know what, Booth, she did. She really did. And she might not have said it... but I had a feeling it was because of something between the two of you. You aren't..?"

"No," he answered heavily. "No, we're not together."

"We'll find her," Max promised, as if he could sense the unspoken words hanging there. The _not yet_ hovering in Booth's mind.

"We better," Booth murmured softly. And then he turned towards the door, his gaze sweeping around her office sadly. She belonged here. She needed to be here, in this space, surrounded by everyone that loved her.

He nodded to the other man and headed for the door. He might not be any use to the squints, but he planned to be there the moment anything changed.

He filled both Max and Russ in on the rest of what the team had discussed before their arrival—which didn't include much—when they were all back on the platform together. Hodgins and Zach were comparing theories and having an argument in their rising frustration; Cam was glaring at her computer as though she could convince it to give her answers; and Angela was zoned out, staring at the same page of her computer screen with her hands stilled on the keyboard.

But it was the artist who spoke before the rest, her eyes shooting up to find Booth's with wide desperation in them. He was at her side in an instant, reading the screen over her shoulder even as he asked, "What is it?"

"Patrick Hogan," she said shakily, so the others could hear her. The others gathered around at once, trying to see the screen. "He was killed in prison. Four days ago."

"Shouldn't you have been told about that?" Hodgins asked Booth in a hushed tone, and Booth nodded.

"Normally, the inform the Agent in charge of the case if something like this happens..."

"Then why weren't you told?"

"Some kind of error in the system, someone forgot to tell me, my answering machine screwed up... how the hell should I know!"

"Does his death have some sort of significance?" Zach asked, tipping his head to the side.

"Yeah," Angela answered, her eyes still huge. "Yeah, it does."

"Booth arrested him for the murder of Margaret Singer," Hodgins filled in. At Zach's blank look he added, "She was James' mistress."

"Oh!" Zach said, nodding. "I see how there would be a correlation."

"What does it say in the report?" Cam asked, trying to look over Zach's shoulder.

"He was killed with a shank while in the recreation yard," Angela answered. "Too much chaos for them to know who did it; and it doesn't matter, anyways. Whoever did it was probably hired, and had no connection themselves."

"Alright, but why would someone want _Hogan_ dead? What's _his_ connection in all of this?" Hodgins questioned.

They all turned to look at Sweets, who seemed uneasy with everyone's attention focused on him.

"Well..." he started tentatively, "We know for certain that he's connected through Maggie's case. There hasn't been a trial yet, so he wasn't technically convicted... but he did confess to the murder."

"What does that give us?" Angela argued, her pitch going up as she slumped back in her chair.

They still weren't getting anywhere, and the tension in the room was only going up the longer this was taking.

"So, first James' lover is killed," Russ said, speaking up for the first time. "And then this guy Hogan, who killed the lover. Now, James is dead as well. It seems they all relate back to this Maggie woman."

The group looked around at each other, finding a common consensus.

"Alright, we look further into the Maggie Singer case," Booth agreed, nodding to the squints. Cam and Angela returned to their computer tasks, but the others stayed where they were, focusing on Booth and waiting for more theories.

It felt like they were so close to something that they just couldn't grasp. Like the answer was sitting right in front of them, barely out of reach.

"Why did they take Dr. B?" Hodgins asked, frowning. "I mean... they've killed three other people, that we know of, and she's the only one who's gone missing. And we know... we know they didn't take her to kill her. Because they wouldn't have bothered to get her stuff as well. So what do they _want?"_

"Taking her stuff might have been a distraction," Sweets pointed out. "To keep us guessing for a while longer. Most kidnappers don't take things with them, after all."

Everyone looked at him pointedly, and Angela made a small strangled sound from the back of her throat. Hodgins placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, glaring at Sweets.

"I'm sorry," he said at once. "I'm just... I'm trying to give all the facts here. We don't know what's happening. We don't... we don't _know_ if she's still alive." He sought out Booth's gaze, his eyes wide with fear that he was saying the wrong things, but Booth gave him nothing to go off of.

The shrink was right, of course. Bones could very well be dead by now. It didn't mean he wanted to hear, it though. Didn't mean he wanted the possibility explained to him.

He knew it. And that was enough to terrify him.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan was floating.

She was caught, in a place between the here and now and the edge of unconsciousness, unsure of which side she wanted to go towards. The pain was a dull throb, bearable but very much present. If she went away, if she dove into that unknown, that blackness, it would go away. She knew that well enough from past experience.

But there was a chance, there. A chance that she would never make it back. That whatever she found in that place would be the last thing she ever found. That the choice would be the last choice she ever made.

She clung by the narrow thread, focusing on the pain despite the implications, making sure she was aware, even if she could not do anything more than _think_ at this point.

To have her mind was to have everything. She was still her. She was still here, even if it was just barely. For now, she could make herself believe it was all going to be okay.

There were two of them, not just the one.

Details, too, were a good focus. A way to ground herself and fight the pain, all at the same time.

She gripped reality a little more firmly.

Two of them.

She knew them. Knew who they were, what they were like. Knew them better now than she had known them before, in the life she'd had. She knew them better than she suspected anyone else did.

Because no one else could possibly know of this, of the darkness that clung there.

A day that felt so far back, but was really only a few months in her past, crept forward in her mind. A television screen, and her son's voice, asking an innocent question.

_Disfigured Body Found in Woods_, it had said. Yellow and blue. Breaking news. Blood. Helicopters and flashing lights. A stretcher being carried through the wooded area.

_"What does 'disfigured' mean?"_

_ "Messed up."_

She shivered, and for the first time in a while she felt the motion pass through her body. Her fingers twitched. She was coming back.

She wished she wasn't. That unknown area, the in between, had been an escape. A small one, but an escape nonetheless. Here, she would feel everything. See everything.

Fear everything.

The in between was better.

Safer.

She tried to go back, but things were becoming too sharp and too clear. She couldn't go back to the fuzzy, the dull. Her eyelids fluttered, and it was an almost involuntary action. She didn't _want_ to see. Didn't want to wake up.

She could feel the cold that was soaking into her flesh. A droplet of water landed on her shoulder, and she twitched. The pipe was still leaking. It had mixed with the blood, creating a rusty liquid that had made it's way down to the puddle on the floor. She was cold, but the damage from the wound on her head was not as great as she had first assumed.

The blood was dried across her scalp, mixed in with her hair. She could do nothing about it, but it was the least of her concerns at this point.

A throb in her throat echoed the pang in her stomach. She needed water, and food, although the latter was the lesser of the two. She was starving, but only for the lack of a better term. Her body had not yet gone into starvation itself. She was just... very hungry. The sort of hungry that Booth would refer to as 'starving.'

Normally she would correct him.

The thirst, though, was a true problem here.

Human beings needed water to survive, and she only faintly remembered them giving her something to drink. It was a faded memory, even though it could have only been from the past few days of her captivity. But it was on a border that made her question the reality of it. The thirst now seemed overwhelming.

The liquid that surrounded her was a taunt, and she suspected her captors were also aware of that.

The ache hit her arms as she attempted to adjust her position. Her wrists were chafed from the bindings, and she knew that if they were ever unbound she would find them bruised and cut apart, covered in sores.

The first thing her eyes landed on, when her vision finally cleared, was the mattress in the corner.

She knew who had been here before her. Knew, but could not give a name. She had not listened to the news report long enough. But she wondered. Wondered what that other woman had thought, as she had lain in this exact predicament. Felt these same wounds—the burns, the cuts, the bruises. She had been here, and had not known why. She had not known who her captors were.

But Brennan didn't understand anymore than the woman before her had.

There was still no explanation for why they had chosen her. Why she was here now, on this mattress, at their mercy.

They were sociopaths. That much was obvious.

But what had made them pick _her_ of all people?

She wondered if Booth knew she was missing yet. If he was looking for her. They had taken her from the airport, and he had been there to pick her up... he must have known something was wrong when he never found her.

The longer she was here, though, the more terrified she became that they were never going to find her.

How long had they held the woman who had come before her? How long had they taken before they had killed her? There must be a pattern they intended to follow, because her injuries were the same.

Was she going to be found in the woods, too? Were hikers going to stumble upon her body, and spark a new Breaking News report about a second disfigured body being discovered?

Another shiver.

Booth would find her. He always did.

He had to... there were so many things she needed to tell him. So many things she still needed to do. So much time that she desperately needed to spend with him.

Things were supposed to be better by now. She was supposed to be home from her vacation in New Hampshire, and have everything explained to Booth. She was supposed to be with him, right now, doing something—working a case, getting a drink at the Founding Fathers, eating Thai at his place... anything. She was supposed to be with him

She needed to be with him.

All these years she had been wasting... when the one place she belonged had been right in front of her the whole time.

Footsteps on the stairs, a bright light. She stiffened at once, her heart rate picking up to a thunderous pace.

No, no, no...

She wanted them to turn around. To go back up. To never come down for her again.

Booth had to come. Soon.

He had to.

And she would hold on, for him, for herself... for the future that they needed to live in, together.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Darkness had fallen again, and once more the clock told Angela that it was the morning of a new day. One more day that her friend was gone. She wasn't a religious person by nature, and she tended to subscribe more to the scientific edge of things, especially after spending so much time in the lab... she had sent up a multitude of prayers in the past two days.

She wasn't even sure who she was trying to get through to—God, the universe, Brennan herself? She didn't even know if she believed in anything, really. It came and went as the years past. But right now... right now she was hoping on a miracle, and miracles were generally associated with religion and prayer and those sorts of things.

She was desperate, and she acknowledged that. She even felt somewhat guilty, whenever she glanced at Booth and saw him with his head bowed, murmuring under his breath. Well, if she wasn't getting the job done, and there was some sort of higher power... they would listen to him. He was the sort of person who deserved to be listened to.

It was difficult to judge how he was handling this. Some moments, he seemed calm and sure of himself, giving suggestions or orders and checking on how things were going. Others... he faded into the backdrop, pacing or leaning against the railing. Staring blankly into space. Not hearing his name when he was called for.

Now, the lab was silent save for the faint tapping of keys every now and again. They were back to the territory of the unsure, running checks and then double-checking them. Just hoping beyond hope that the next click of the mouse would give them something, _anything_, that would crack this wide open, and tell them where they could find her.

_Brennan, where are you?_ she thought desperately. _Please, please be okay... I need you._

Her gaze cut towards her office, and found the slumbering form of her best friend's only child. She had gotten him a blanket from Brennan's office when it had gotten near to his bed time, and he had gladly curled up with it. Brennan's warm scent lingered on it, a lavender and vanilla sort of smell mixed with something that was just... _her_, and she suspected it was what ultimately encouraged him to drift off.

He had questions, of course, but she didn't know what to say to him, and neither did any of the others. How were they going to tell him his father was dead? How were they supposed to explain his mother was missing—that she might not be coming back?

There would be a point when they might _have_ to tell him, of course. But for now... for now, they were keeping him in the dark, where he was safely oblivious. There were some of her own children's old toys that she had kept in her office from when they used to visit on days when something went wrong with the sitter, and he had been entertained by them. Hodgins had hooked up a monitor as a television set and put on cartoons from Netflix, too, and that had helped.

Still, she couldn't hold back the pang of sorrow that hit her when her eyes swept over his tiny form. The poor little guy. His whole world was upside-down, and he didn't even know it yet. All he knew was that there was something wrong, and the adults wouldn't tell him what it was.

She was hugely grateful to Daisy, who called with regular updates on how her own children were doing. She wasn't sure what she would do without her; it wouldn't be possible to be at the lab this long if she hadn't volunteered to keep an eye on all the children for them while they searched for Brennan.

She was truly a godsend.

Angela's eyes drifted back to her computer screen. They hadn't narrowed anything down, since the last breakthrough. All they were sure of, now, was that this was centered around Brennan. Something they'd been guessing at from the start. Sweets, though, had become certain of it the more they worked around the theory. He said that she was the common denominator in the situation, that she was the one they had taken... it was logical to assume she was the focus.

Which meant the killings of James, Maggie, and Hogan all related back to Brennan. There was a reason she had been taken, and the murders could very well have been both lead-up and cover-up.

They still had no motive, though, and they were hitting walls on all sides.

With a sigh, she got up from her chair. Hodgins glanced at her, and she motioned towards the lounge. He nodded, offering her a sad smile, and she turned away.

She had meant to get a coffee, but she found Booth there, which surprised her. She hadn't noticed him leave the platform, but it was clear he'd been here for a while. He was sitting, slumped on the couch, head in his hands, and he didn't move when she came up the stairs.

Gently, she sat down on the cushion beside him.

"Hey, G-man," she murmured softly.

He turned his head to look at her, his expression dark. "Hey," he replied, his voice thick.

At once, she felt her throat tighten. There hadn't been much time to just... focus on what might happen, in the wake of all of this. They'd been keeping busy to avoid that very thing. But somehow, just the single word from Booth was enough to send it crashing down on her.

She felt the bite of tears stirring up in her eyes, and she blinked them rapidly.

"She loves you," she whispered seriously, imploring him to believe it. "She loves you, Booth. No matter what... no matter what happens... you have to know that."

And, to her surprise, he actually nodded. "I know," he murmured back. "God, I know, Ange. And... and I'm going to do something about it. _When_ she gets back... I'm going to do something about it."

There was no 'if' there, and it almost made her smile in relief. As long as Booth had hope, as long as he had faith that she was going to be okay... they still stood a chance. Brennan needed him to be this guy, the guy that never gave up on anything... especially not on her.

"Good. That's... that's good, Booth. Thank you."

He nodded again, biting down on his lower lip.

There wasn't much else to say. They sat in the silence, savoring the other's presence beside them. The companionship in the midst of this storm.

The clicking of heels drew both of their attentions up as Cam reached the lounge, her eyes bright with an excitement that immediately lifted Angela's spirits. Something had changed, and it was something good. Progress?

"We've got a connection," she said eagerly, and Booth stood up. Angela followed suit, and the three of them made their way swiftly down to join the others on the platform.

"What is it?" Hodgins said from his station as they came up the stairs, the familiar bells ringing them in. All attention focused on Cam.

Her eagerness had faded somewhat now, and she spoke carefully. "We've got a lead. It's... not all positive. But it might help us find her... so that's something."

"Go on," Angela urged.

She took a deep breath. "A few months back, the FBI caught a case with a woman who was found in the woods. Veronica Wheeler."

"I know this case," Booth said at once, eyes going wide. "I looked over the file for Charlie..."

"Well, there were a few developments that were just made on it. Turns out the witnesses disappeared, just like ours. Only, they haven't been found yet. But you can bet they're as dead as ours are. Whoever took Veronica... wanted to keep her hidden. They didn't want any links to her, any loose ends. And the physical evidence was lacking, too."

Booth was nodding, his expression hard and his eyes blazing.

"Do you think it's the same people?" Angela asked, watching him with concern.

"If it is, then she's still alive," Sweets said, but his voice was hoarse and his face pale. Angela's eyes swept over the three of them—Cam, Booth, and Sweets—looking for answers. It was Cam who spoke, explaining to the group.

"Veronica Wheeler... was held for three months."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Hodgins. Angela was pretty sure she stopped breathing.

"They tortured her," Booth filled in roughly. "Her body was almost... unidentifiable."

The room was dead silent.

"I'm getting Charlie over here," Booth said at last, jerking out his cell phone and turning away from the group to make the call.

Angela swallowed harshly. "Do you think... that's what's happening to her?" she demanded of Sweets, and he opened his mouth before shutting it again just as quickly. He raggedly shook his head, at a loss.

"I have no idea, but... the profile seems to fit. Veronica Wheeler was in her thirties, a brunette with blue eyes, very intelligent..."

"She fits the type," Cam agreed softly.

"If pattern follows, we have three months," Zach said, but even he seemed to know that that was not a true option.

"Oh God," Hodgins suddenly choked, and Angela looked over to find him scanning through a file on his PDA. Hers buzzed on her desk, indicating that she had just been forwarded the same file, presumably from Charlie. Booth had just gotten off the phone, and was coming back. He pulled his out as well, his face going even more shades of pale as he, too, looked through whatever it was.

Angela stepped over to her husband, turning the phone towards herself in his hand.

It was the file on Veronica Wheeler. With the crime scene photos.

And right then, her heart racing with fear, Angela sent up the most desperate prayer she had yet.

_Don't let this happen to her._

**Comments make me happy, and help me figure out what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. You all have been so much help in shaping this story into what it has become. **

**P.S.- I'm also really, really curious about how well I've done with the mystery aspect thus far. I'm just beginning to create my own personal characters for what will hopefully become a novel of my own... and I guess you could say the plot lines I've been using lately for Bones have been practice with outlining and crafting a mystery with enough red herrings and twists and turns to keep readers guessing. So, feedback on that would be amazing! :D**_  
_


	28. Somewhere a Clock Is Ticking

**A/N: This chapter is pretty dark as far as the second half goes. Be prepared. Song for this one is Somewhere a Clock is Ticking by Snow Patrol. **_  
_

_Chapter 27: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking_

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed  
(I could do most anything to you...)  
Don't you breathe  
Something happened, that I never understood  
You can't leave  
Every second, dripping off my fingertips  
Wage your war  
Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die  
Well I am scared  
In slow motion, the blast is beautiful  
Doors slam shut  
A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away  
Safe and sound  
_

_July 15__th__, 2018_

"Alright," Sweets said, standing in front of the group. Charlie had arrived and filled them in on the basics—which wasn't much and didn't help Booth much seeing as he'd already gone through the file himself—and now Sweets was preparing to give them a rundown of what they were looking for. After spending about twenty minutes digging through all the details and questioning both agents, he had worked out something rough that he said 'wasn't definitive, but was the best he could do for now.'

The team was no longer alone in the lab, either. The time was reaching six o'clock in the morning, and squints were starting to file in and around, low murmurs and the echo of footsteps breaking the silence they had been stifled in for the past hours.

Max and Russ had finally been convinced to separate themselves from the platform and get some rest in Brennan's office. While he was glad to have their help, they were mostly in the way at this juncture of the investigation. Especially because Max had nearly bolted—to do God only knows what—when he got a glimpse of the crime scene photos from the Wheeler case.

Booth himself had caught about two hours of sleep, mostly at Angela's insistence, and he'd eaten a granola bar. Without any adrenaline, the anxiety and the exhaustion were starting to get to him.

Angela looked dead on her feet, but she was staring at the computer screen with intense conviction, focused more on whatever it was she was trying to do than on what Sweets had to say. Booth suspected she didn't want to hear any of it—didn't want to know the details. She thought she'd already heard and seen too much about Brennan's potential fate.

"We know from what we've seen that there are two men involved. I have concluded that they are most likely the only players, outside of any that might have been manipulated. But these two... are definitely the main focus here. The masterminds, if you will.

"Now, usually when we have two players in a situation, we see one dominant and one submissive. There's usually a clear line between who's following and who's giving the orders. In this particular case, though, I'm having a hard time seeing this. There's a lot of teamwork going on, and the only similarity I can see is in the case of who is generally driving. I posit that there is an age difference, but that it isn't majorly effecting their decisions. The younger of the two will be the one doing the driving, however."

"How does this help us?" Booth cut in.

"Let me finish. From the Wheeler case, I classify these two as sociopaths. They're focus is on inflicting pain in all measures. They have no interest once their victim is dead, and disposed of Veronica Wheeler as such. Their main focus was keeping her alive, because that was how they derived their excitement."

Booth ground his teeth together, his eyes dark.

"Now, we know that there are other victims associated with this case. The _focuses_ were Veronica and Dr. Brennan. The others were pawns or collateral—Maggie Singer, Patrick Hogan, and James Turner."

"So you are tying Maggie and Hogan into this?" Hodgins questioned.

"Yes, I believe they are crucial."

"But how does Hogan fit in?" the entomologist continued, frowning. "He admitted to killing her. We know he was there. How does _that_ work?"

Sweets was shaking his head. "It's all connected. I'm... unsure at the moment about the exact way in which it fits, but I doubt Hogan actually committed that murder."

"Who were the other viable suspects?" Zach asked, looking around for clarification. He had always been helpless with the human aspect of the cases, with motive and all the things that came with it, but Booth could see he was trying. And he was grateful for it.

"That's a very good point," Sweets said, eyebrows going up as he too looked around the group. "I have every reason to believe that the best place to find the identities of these sociopaths will be in the Maggie Singer case details. They may be very thorough and plan ahead, but they're also quick thinkers. Which means they change the overall plan very quickly when things are altered. And if there's any place they might have slipped up during that process... it would be at the stage that involved Maggie. They're main focus was Brennan, after all. They would be careful, but not nearly as meticulous, when it came to the collateral victim."

Cam rolled her chair over to the keyboard and started to pull up the information from the first case onto the large screen.

Booth nodded as the information loaded. "Rory Hart, Sarah Reed..." he murmured. "Kevin, Joel, Hogan, and James."

"Any of them seem likely?" Cam questioned, looking at him pointedly. He was the one who had been out in the field, who had talked to these people. And they all knew that.

"Rory was more interested in getting high than anything else, Sarah was the neighbor—she wasn't exactly friendly, but I didn't peg her as a killer—Hogan and James are both dead... and Kevin and Joel are lawyers, so they're easy to hate... but they aren't sociopaths.

"Anyone could be a sociopath," Sweets said, "I met them briefly myself, and I didn't like them much... but they could have a dark side to them that we don't know about."

Booth resisted the urge to taunt him with a Star Wars action figure reference. Doing that would only show the shrink that he had no other outlet for his frustrations, and he didn't need to be worried about right now. He needed everyone's focus to be on Bones, and Bones alone.

Angela made a sound, her eyes widening, and her fingers flew across the keyboard. Booth and Hodgins glanced over, Booth with interest and Hodgins with concern, but it was clear that the artist was too focused to even take notice of anything around her.

Booth's attention returned to the shrink.

"How do we find where they're holding her?"

"This is where the previous case will help us more than the current one. Because Veronica Wheeler was the first victim, it would be wise to go through every avenue of the investigation again. And I don't mean just going over the forensic data, or summarizing. I mean in depth. We all need to look at this from our own angles, as if this was our case as opposed to Dr. Brennan's." At Booth's sudden glare, he clarified, "It will help us be more objective, as well as providing new information. All of which we will use to rescue Dr. Brennan and bring her back safely."

Booth had to agree that the younger man had a valid point. Apparently Charlie felt the same way, because he nodded and stepped forward. Sweets backed out of the center of attention and, not finding an open seat, settled for a spot against the railing.

"Our first leads told us it was the boyfriend. He had all the motivations—she was trying to leave him, he was out of work and relying on her financially, she was already interested in another guy—but we couldn't pin it down. His alibi held up no matter what angle we came at it from, and there was just no way he could have been there. So then we started thinking he was working with someone. Which fits with your two person theory, but not with the sociopath angle. We were trying to see it as a crime of passion gone horribly awry, and this is clearly something else completely.

"Other than him, though, we looked at her boss. Frankie Moore. She worked at a news station as a writer."

"And what was his motive?"

"We couldn't find one, but there was something about him. You know how it goes."

Booth nodded. "Did you get anything on him?"

Angela was pounding at the keys again, her chair squeaking as she pushed it closer to the screen. He hoped she was getting something good. Something that was going to help them.

"No, he was a dead end, too. We thought she might have been seeing him on the side, but we had no evidence of it and there was no history we could find in their phone calls or work meetings. Nothing tied it together."

"Did the news station do any business with Turner's company?"

"I don't think so, but..."

He glanced towards Cam, who swiftly took to pulling up the necessary information and running a comparison algorithm on the files they had on both cases.

"Other than that, we didn't really _have_ any serious candidates for psychopaths just strolling into our investigation. Whoever did this, I don't think we even _saw_ them."

Booth closed his eyes, trying not to consider that possibility. If they had never seen the men who had taken Brennan, how on earth was he supposed to find her? How was he supposed to get her back if they had nothing to go off of?

She could be anywhere right now. Who knew how far away they had taken her? Who knew what they were doing to her? But at that thought, far too many unwanted images flew into his head. Veronica Wheeler had been beaten. Whipped, burned, cut. And he couldn't keep himself from seeing a horrible reel of images in his head. Crime scene photos, with Bones in the place of Veronica.

He trembled slightly. A hand landed on his arm, and he jumped.

It was Cam, looking at him with open concern. He sighed.

"I'm fine," he said heavily. "Let's just... get her back."

Cam nodded immediately.

A slight buzz drew all of their attentions to the screen, where they found that there were no commonalities in the areas Cam had searched. There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the team.

_Now what?_ they all seemed to be thinking.

"Oh my God," Angela whispered. Their section of the platform was so quiet, they could have heard a pin drop. All attention turned to her, and Booth moved forward to stand behind her and look over her shoulder. But she spun her chair around to explain, and he stepped back.

For a moment, she didn't say anything, just shaking her head.

"It's them," she said at last. "It's the lawyers."

"What?" Hodgins said, his voice thin with confusion. He moved forward, peering around her at the screen. Booth watched as his frown first increased and then vanished entirely. He turned back to the group with a stunned look on his face.

"What is it?" Cam demanded.

"I traced the money that I told you James paid; the transactions that looked weird?" They all nodded, remembering, and waited for her to explain further. "They rerouted it several times, and tried to lose any of their tracks, but it ends up in their account. Some of it... I still don't know how it got there, but it's _there_. All of it. And at first I thought it might just be a coincidence, but then when you were talking about connections, and I started looking into how they could have crossed Veronica's path. We already know how they found Bren."

"And you found something?" Booth queried, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded seriously, "Yeah, Booth, I found something. The news station faced a lawsuit a while back, for defamation of character—one of those people doing what they shouldn't have been doing who got caught by reporters but then was cleared—and guess who they hired to represent them?"

"No," Cam said, shaking her head.

"Oh,_ yes._ They were there."

In his head, Booth was playing back every time he had seen them. All the bad vibes he'd gotten from them, all the gut feelings that told him they were trouble. Every time, though, he had waved it off as being because he didn't like defense lawyers. _All_ of them gave him bad vibes. But with them... it _had_ been different. Something about the way they talked, the way they looked around. The way he'd caught them focused just a little too intently on Brennan on several occasions. He had thought to himself at the time that it wasn't his business. That, yeah, it was reasonable to be interested in her even if she _was_ married to their friend.

Their friend... James.

"They killed James?" he said suddenly, looking around at the others.

"If they really are sociopaths," Sweets said, coming forward into the front of the group again. "Then they're capable of killing _anyone_. It doesn't matter if he's their friend. He might have just _thought _they were his friends. In fact, this explains why he was so panicked when you were questioning him. He did know something—he knew who was behind it. And he knew they were dangerous. I remember saying that he was afraid of something. And clearly, he had reason to fear them."

"Yeah, they put a bullet in his skull," Hodgins muttered lowly.

Booth was rushing ahead, putting together other pieces. The most important thing was _finding_ her. He could face the anger and the bloodlust later, the hatred for these men. Right now, this new information meant one thing, and one thing only.

A route that would lead him to her.

"Ange," he said sharply, "I need you to pull up everything you can on those brothers. All of their property, all the land they have access to, _anything_. We need to find out where they're keeping her." _It must be nearby, so they've got easy access. _He pushed away the following thoughts that came with that, the thoughts that said _so they could spend more time with her_.

He needed to find her. That was the only important thing.

Angela was back to typing at the keyboard, and he almost didn't hear what Zach said.

"It would be logical that lawyers would also have access to prisoners, correct?"

"Yeah, why?" Hodgins was asking.

"So they could order a hit," Booth answered for him, turning to face the squints. "That's how they got rid of Hogan—I guarantee they met with another of their clients that day, to order it."

"How did they frame him?" Cam tossed in.

He opened his mouth and shut it again, working out the options in his head.

Nothing came to mind, and the others didn't have much of an answer either.

"Maybe... he bribed him?" Hodgins suggested. "If we look into his financials, maybe we'll see he got a payoff to take the fall. I've heard of people that do that, if they've got families that need the help. Sick kids and stuff like that."

Booth shook his head. "No, he didn't have anything like that going on... he was a loner sort of a guy. And money wouldn't do him any good in prison."

Hodgins shrugged, and Booth's eyes roved over the others. They each shook their heads in turn. Charlie gave Booth a helpless look, but he could see that the other agent was just waiting for the word that would send him out to start the search.

All focus returned to Angela as they watched her work.

"What do you want to bet they had a hand behind the scenes in that custody case?" Hodgins said grimly, shaking his head.

Booth glanced towards Angela's office, to where Nick was slumped on the couch, still fast asleep. The blanket had slipped from him, and was half on the floor. He clutched one corner of it in his tiny fist. Booth's heart went out to the little guy. He remembered Parker at that age, and he knew that things from here weren't going to go nearly as smoothly as they had with his own son. He might have not been there every day for his son, but he was a good father and he knew it. James on the other hand... well, Booth didn't know what to think of him, but it didn't even matter. Because from now on, he was gone. Nick didn't get to make up his own mind about his father. He'd had his father taken from him. And eventually, someone was going to have to sit down and explain that to him.

"You think they had that kind of leverage?" Cam was asking.

"Wouldn't put it past them, after we just learned all of this."

"Why was James paying them?" Zach threw in. They all turned to him in surprise, and Booth wondered how long he'd been thinking that idea over to himself before speaking.

_Good question_, he thought to himself, frowning.

"To not kill him?" Hodgins said, although he didn't even believe his own guess, because he was already shaking his head before he was even finished with it.

"We can figure it out later," Booth said dismissively.

"Alright... I've got something," Angela said, turning to look over her shoulder at them and then pointing at the screen.

Booth leaned closer to read the address. "Beach house in Virginia," he murmured.

"I'll have a team go check it out," Charlie suggested. Booth almost objected, almost insisted that he go along, except Angela wasn't finished.

"And there's these two, as well."

A warehouse in Bethesda and what looked like a cabin in the mountains.

"Great," he muttered. And then he straightened up and pulled out his phone. "I think it's time we go collect Kevin and Joel—see what they have to say."

_And get them the hell away from Bones._

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Brennan jolted awake with a rattling gasp, her eyes darting around in panic. Dull light surrounded her, unlike the usual pitch black that she'd been waking up in. Her body was sticky with sweat, her skin burning when she tried to move her position. Her legs ached, and a sharp flash of pain hit as the skin of her inner thighs pulled apart after so long fused together in the same position.

A raw sound choked loose from her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut and bit into her lip before forcibly shoving herself up and away from the pillow. She fell back down heavily, rolling to face the other way.

Her arms felt like they were going to fall off, and she could hardly feel her fingers anymore. The tips of them vibrated, hot and painful as the blood that had gathered in them flowed from the change in the position of gravity relative to them.

The mattress was bloody and soiled. Everything smelled of body odor and urine, and it was almost familiar at this point. She tried to hold back a sob and failed.

How many days had it been? How long had she been in this hellhole?

How many more ways could they hurt her?

How much more could she be humiliated and dehumanized?

They had cut her clothing to bare more of her flesh to their assaults, and she shivered despite the sweat. She felt ice cold through most of her body, and hot as fire in others. The pain seemed to be everywhere.

She wanted more water, but they were holding it off. Barely giving her enough, and making her drink it from a bowl. They hadn't once removed the shackles from her hands. The bread they had brought they had fed her piece by piece.

The shame had burned through her as she had fought the urge to comply. After the first harsh clap across her already cut apart skin, though, she had shakily opened her mouth and allowed the bread to be fed to her.

They were enjoying every minute of this.

And the fear lived on, though every minute and every hour. She only found sleep through unconsciousness or helpless exhaustion. If it weren't for that, though, she would never be able to close her eyes. There was too much terror chasing itself around in her head. Making her heart race and her tears flow.

They knew she was practically blinded by terror, and that only thrilled them more. Made them more eager to try new methods of torment. Once or twice, they referenced the last occupant of this dark place. She knew that was meant to scare her, too, but she was starting to find comfort in the idea of them finally following that route with her. If only she knew how much longer it would be before she could expect death... it would be so much better. Such a reassurance, to know this wouldn't be forever.

But she still had her undergarments, and that was something to be grateful for. Or, perhaps, something to fear even more. They weren't unaware that she was expecting to finally be attacked sexually on any given day. It was the first thing that came to mind when the door opened. That this time, this time they might take the last thing she was clinging to. And then, there would be no more borders. That they could violate her whenever they wished... it was a power almost greater than the actual act.

And they were aware of it. They watched with glee as she pushed herself into the farthest corner of the mattress whenever they came down the stairs, and they would laugh darkly when they traced the knife along her skin or came dangerously close to cutting through the last tendrils of her blouse.

As much as she tried to keep herself boxed up, as much as she tried to put on a blank face and act indifferent, she knew they could see everything. She knew they could see every last flicker of her pain, every last thread of her fear.

That felt like a violation more than anything else had. There was nothing she could hide.

Her eyes blearily focused, and she gazed around. The light was new. They hadn't done this before, and she trembled with the unknown. Things were changing.

With the lights off, they could approach, could hide what weapon they planned to use next until the last possible second. Now, though, she could see it all. And it was worse. So much worse.

The far wall, the one closest to the base of the stairs, was covered with hooks where various tools hung. Hammers, saws, pliers, wrenches, even scissors. She recognized those. Could even see a few strands of her hair still caught in between the blades. Something else they had taken from her, chopping her auburn locks up past her shoulder. Most of it was still on the pillow. Yet another taunt.

A whip dangled around the railing of the stairs, and her muscles clenched up at just the sight. Her shoulders were bare and scarred. If she could see her back, she knew it would be lined with the thin marks, deeply embedded in her flesh. The same went for her arms, which had been kept trapped behind her as each blow rained.

Her eyes, though, did not linger on the weapons. They slid across to the other side of the room, the part that had always been shrouded in darkness. And what she saw... scared her more than anything else had so far.

A door creaked open, and her breaths became rapid as her body curled up into itself, her eyes wanting to squeeze shut but staying wide open. They could not look away from the stairs as she waited.

"Hello, love," Kevin said, a calm smile on his lips. It morphed into a smirk. A moment later, Joel followed him down. He glanced over at her, his eyes narrowing. His smile flickered, but then his gaze cut towards the far side of the room, and he grinned.

She shook involuntarily.

"What do you think?" Kevin said, resting his hand on the edge of the coffin.

She swallowed sharply. _Don't look so afraid, Brennan. Keep it together... it might be a taunt. They might not have any plan to actually use it..._

If there was one thing she had learned through this whole ordeal, it was that the simple was never simple. A coffin did not mean she was about to die. Not at all.

"We're going to have to leave you for a few days," Joel said in his polite-voice. The sweet sound was sickening. She couldn't believe she had ever counted either of them as friends. Surely James had not known who he was working with. Surely not.

"We thought this would keep you... entertained," Kevin added, rapping his knuckles on the edge of the hard cover. It was a high-end coffin; not something cheap. "Rented a hearse and everything. Got a nice spot picked out, too."

Now, her eyes closed.

_Oh God no. Please, please no..._

Joel whisked out a syringe.

"If we thought you would cooperate, we wouldn't bother," he said smoothly, stepping closer.

She wasn't letting this happen without a fight. Already, she could feel walls closing down on her. Her breaths grew shallower.

"No," she choked out, kicking her tied legs uselessly. She couldn't even push herself up to try and fight him off. She felt drained, but weighed down. All her fighting skills were useless. They couldn't help her here.

"Oh, wait, there was something else," Kevin said, stopping Joel short. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.

"You won't get away with this," she whispered, her voice cracking. She'd barely spoken in days. There had never been anything to say. Words wouldn't get her out, and insults were certainly not going to help her. But now... now, with that coffin sitting there in plain view, she could not keep silent. The terror had always been present. But now it was threatening to become overpowering.

Kevin laughed openly. "No, of course not. I mean, we left lots of witnesses, right?" His tone was mocking as he turned to his brother with a raised eyebrow.

Joel grinned, his eyes dark. "Yeah, what did we do with them, again? I can't seem to remember."

"Well, there was that guy, what was his name? Hogan?"

"Oh, right. The one that was killed in prison."

"Yeah, him. And then..?"

"Oh yes, I remember now." It was all mocking, and she could hear her heart pounding, waiting for the explanation. They were leading up to something. Something that was meant to damage her. She almost didn't want to know.

"Right, James," Kevin said, turning to speak directly to her. "Smart of him to not to go and open his mouth up to your new boyfriend, though."

Her mouth opened and closed. She was confused, and angry, and the fear wasn't helping. She didn't want to ask what he meant, because that was exactly what he wanted her to do.

"Shame we had to kill him, though, he was a nice guy."

Her mouth went dry, and her blood ran colder than it had been before. No.

"Ah, surprising, isn't it?" Joel said pleasantly. As though they were having a friendly chat about something like a sports tournament. "But, see, after he paid us to get you out of the way, we really couldn't trust him to not spill his guts. Not much need, though. Seeing as they all think you abandoned them to get away from your problems."

_Lies_, she told herself_, They're lying, and you know it. Booth is looking for you._

Still, the words sent a stab of pain straight to her heart at the very thought.

"Maybe we should go see how your son is doing. I don't think they've told him where his father's gone... perhaps he should be informed."

"You stay the hell away from my son," she spat, her fury flaring up and taking over for her fear.

"Feisty," Joel said with a short bark of laughter.

"Time to get going, though," Kevin said shortly, standing and dusting off his hands. "Sorry we don't have more time to... play," he added, giving her a disappointed once over with his eyes before gazing towards the far wall.

The tools glimmered, and she was almost grateful when the darkness came for her in the wake of the sharp prick from the needle.

Almost.

**Feedback, please? :D**


	29. Come Home

**A/N: Welcome back everyone! Good news; I've finally got my laptop! I've got all my stories transferred over to it, and I'm loving it. This story and Always All For You have my full attention for the next week-I'm hoping to get pretty far ahead before I move into my residence hall and start classes. I want to stay on schedule, but fanfic is going to have to come in second to schoolwork. Unfortunately. Anyways, though, I hope you are all still enjoying this story. I know this is painful and you all want Brennan back safe and sound. But so do Booth and the others, and they've never let her down in the past. We'll just have to see... **

**Song for this one is Come Home by OneRepublic. Such a wonderful song. **_  
_

_Chapter 28: Come Home_

_Come home  
Come home  
Cause I've been waiting for you  
For so long  
For so long  
And right now there's a war between the vanities  
But all i see is you and me  
The fight for you is all I've ever known  
Ever known  
So come home  
Oh_

_July 15__th__, 2018_

Booth clicked the pen in his hand methodically, following a steady pace as he focused his attention on the door in front of him. It was a fancy pen—the one Brennan had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. He kept himself from breaking it in his grasp. It was a piece of her, that she'd given to him. It was all he had, at the moment.

Joel would be the first to be questioned. He was just waiting for Sweets, who had requested to join him in the interrogation. If Max had his way, he'd have been there as well. But they had convinced him to stay at the lab. It was clear that he wasn't going to be listening much longer, though.

Charlie had sent teams to each of the locations Angela had found so far, and they were waiting on a report from those, as well. Finding Kevin and Joel had been simpler—they had been at their office building, working as though they were completely innocent.

Booth could barely stand still; the anxiety was bearing down on him as worst case scenarios raced through his head.

And he couldn't help but think that they might find her, without him, and he wouldn't be able to help.

But as long as she was safe, it didn't matter. That's what he tried to convince himself of, at least. Because his inner being was dying to get out of this place. To be the one leading the way through the door to each of those properties. All those past times, he had been the one who got there. He had been able to save her.

This wasn't about being the hero. This was about him simply not trusting that anyone else could do this. Every past time, he had _been_ there. He had arrived just in time to shoot Kenton, to see that plume of smoke from the blast of the airbag, to take down the Harbinger doctor.

When it came to her, he wanted to be the one there. It was how it was, and there wasn't much he could do about it.

Except fight it.

And he was doing a decent job of it, because he was here, in the Hoover, waiting to question the two people who he _knew_ were behind her disappearance. Two people who had most likely spent the past few days torturing the woman he loved in every way their sick minds could imagine.

He felt nauseous at just the thought.

Sweets approached at last, giving him a grim look that was mixed thickly with concern. He had every right to be worried, of course. If Tanner got a look at him, or at any of these files, he'd never let him in there. It was for their friendship, not for their work relationship, that Sweets was allowing him in there now.

Mostly, though, it was for Bones.

He couldn't be more grateful. Giving the shrink a quick nod, he stepped forward and turned the handle to the door, leading the way into the room. Joel was sitting on the other side of the table, drumming his fingers on the hard surface. He turned to them with a surprised expression on his face.

Booth's eyes darkened, and a pulse started thrumming powerfully in a vein on his neck before he even pulled out his chair and sat down.

Sweets followed suit, clearing his throat and then crossing his arms. Trying to look tougher than he was, but Booth gave him credit for it. He had a decent poker face.

"So, what's this about, Agent Booth?"

"You know _what,_ Mr. Baleno," Booth said tightly, leaning forward.

He shrugged indifferently. "You'll have to fill me in."

"Is there a reason you haven't called a lawyer?" Sweets cut in before Booth to retort.

He fell silent, leaning back in his chair and waiting for the man to answer the question.

Joel gave him a thoughtful look, as though he was sizing him up. He smiled. "I am a lawyer, thank you. And I'm not worried about this... inconvenience. I'll have it cleared up shortly, I'm sure. And besides... I always did love a good lawsuit. Kevin's probably drawing up the papers in his head right now. I've got some suggestions for a couple of things that can be added, of course. Police brutality, for one."

Booth ground his teeth. "You don't have a mark on you."

"Ah, but I've won cases with less evidence, Agent. Trust me."

"Your friend is dead," Sweets tried next.

"James, you mean?" Joel said, putting on a somber face. "That was quite a tragedy."

"Yes, it was. Tell me... what do you know about it?"

"Not much," Joel answered, shrugging again.

"Listen," Booth said sharply, leaning dangerously close across the table, nearly on his feet. The chair skidded back a few inches. "We know, alright? We know _everything_. So you might as well start talking."

"Now, it seems to me that if someone knew everything... they wouldn't have much need for more answers, would they?"

Booth was getting to the point where he was going to start seeing red.

"Where is she, you son of a bitch..."

"Who are we talking about?" Joel said politely, tilting his head to the side, a smile perched on his face. Booth wanted to punch it right off of him.

Sweets reached out a hand, as if it would really do anything, and said quickly, "Dr. Brennan is missing. You are already aware of this, because you removed her from the airport after drugging her. You then took her to your favorite place. As it is right now, you're on the bad side of a very powerful government agency, and we've got enough evidence to bring you in on conspiracy charges, possible bribery, two counts of murder, and kidnapping of an FBI consultant. People like you... get the death penalty. Especially when their partner in crime flips on them."

"Wow. Seems like it might be a good idea to say nothing, then, right?"

Sweets' jaw set back at a sharp angle. And Booth saw something in his expression then that he didn't think he'd ever seen before. He'd seen a lot of things from him—fear, panic, confusion, despair, annoyance—but he didn't think he'd ever seen raw _fury_ before.

He hadn't even known this side of the shrink existed.

"You will die for this," he said lowly. "The only question is... whether it's from the needle, or after a long life in prison. So, you tell me. Do you want to die sooner, or later, Mr. Baleno?"

Joel regarded him curiously. Re-evaluating his original perception.

And then he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I think I'm done talking."

"We'll be back," Booth growled, and then knocked his chair over on the way out. Sweets followed him at a slower pace, but slammed the door behind him. He hissed out a sigh when they were back in the hallway, his head falling back.

"Come on," Booth said sharply, heading straight for the second door.

"Wait a second," Sweets said, jogging to catch up. He put a hand on Booth's shoulder, which jarred him to a halt, more from surprise than anything else.

"What?" Booth snapped.

Sweets didn't flinch. "I have a few things to discuss with you before we go in there."

"If you're going to tell me to watch my temper..." Booth said, trailing off warningly.

"I'm not," Sweets responded at once, shaking his head rapidly. "I _would_ say to be careful how much you show them, because they feed off of it... but that's not the main part of what I was going to say."

"Fine. Go ahead."

"Alright, like I said earlier, they work together very efficiently. But because of Joel's position as driver, I have to say he is slightly lower than Kevin in their mini-hierarchy."

"And how does this help us? Joel seems to think he's an equal in the relationship. He certainly acts like one."

"Yes, but he's not important. He perceives himself as equal, like you said. But that's not how Kevin will see it. He's got Joel doing the lower work. He sees himself as the alpha. Maybe he even humors himself by letting his half-brother believe he's on equal ground."

"And we can use that on Kevin," Booth reasoned, nodding slowly.

"Exactly. He'll be ready to take charge. He'll want to call the shots. He won't believe Joel turned on him, but he'll be more likely to think he can outsmart us. He'll give us something, I'm sure of it. Especially once he thinks there's no way out. He's a sociopath—he's going to enjoy this as much as he can. Don't think it will be easy."

"One fucking messed up family," Booth muttered.

"Yes. Yes they are."

"What, no hypothesis about bad parenting or abusive childhoods?"

Sweets shook his head. "That doesn't make a sociopath. Although, two in the same family isn't something I've dealt with before."

Booth grunted, his attention back on the door.

"What's the plan?" he said heavily, defaulting to the shrink. He was used to intimidating, to using the evidence against their suspect. This was unfamiliar territory, and Sweets had already given him a lot more than he could have come up with on his own.

"We let him think he's the smartest one in the room," Sweets responded simply. "Give him the upper hand. I know—it's not going to be enjoyable. Show your frustration, but try to rein in your anger. Just make it known that we're stuck. When he knows we're hinging on him and him alone... he'll want to toy with us. It's in his nature."

Booth swallowed, and then nodded.

He opened the door.

Kevin didn't look fazed in the slightest by their arrival.

He glanced up, and then a smile perched itself arrogantly on his face, and he tilted his chin up and watched them as they walked towards him and pulled out their chairs.

"Do you know why you're here?" Booth started.

"I assume this has something to do with what happened to James?"

"In part."

Kevin raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

"We know you took Dr. Brennan," Sweets said, interjecting before Booth could. He shot him a look of surprise, unsure of where to go with that but deciding that if Sweets thought it was best to just come out with it... then fine. He'd just wait and see where this took them.

"Do you, now?"

Well, no denial, at least.

"Yes, we do," Sweets continued. "If you talk now, you might not get the death penalty. Tell us where she is."

"Death penalty? Seems a bit harsh. What is it that I'm supposed to have done to warrant that, exactly?"

"We've got a list going," Sweets assured, cutting a look towards Booth that told him to keep quiet. Booth understood—leave out specifics. Keep up the illusion that they were grasping at straws without being too obvious about it.

Kevin seemed to take the bait, though, because his smile widened. "Fascinating," he said.

Booth ground his teeth. Every word that this man spoke made him want to pin him to the wall and strangle the answers out of him. She was out there, somewhere. They had to find her, and every minute that they didn't could be one less minute that she had left to live.

Kevin's attention switched to him, and he smirked.

Booth's eyes darkened dangerously.

"Hurts when you misplace something so precious, doesn't it, Agent?"

His chair squealed as it pushed out a few inches. He was ready to follow through on his desire to beat the pulp out of this bastard. Sweets kicked him under the table none-to-gently.

"Where is she?" he hissed lowly. It was a good thing Sweets had told him to act clueless and desperate. Because he had very little control on his side at the moment. And that question had been beating around desperately in his skull, dying to escape.

Kevin laughed. He was really trying his luck, Booth thought, clenching his fists. Perhaps he was unaware that there was nobody watching from the other side of the mirror. No video or audio equipment running. Just in case. They'd claim it was a malfunction later—Angela had told him she could make it look convincing, if it was required. Sweets had pretended not to listen.

It was amazing how far they were all willing to go to get her back. How much they were willing to risk to have even the slightest chance of saving her life.

He would never take them for granted again. Any of them.

"Fear... is an amazing thing, Agent Booth. It has a physical effect on the body, almost instantly. And the mental damage is... astounding. You can see it in people's eyes. So... raw. Pure."

His mouth had gone dry, and he knew his face was probably pale.

"What did you do to her?"

"I don't recall saying I did anything. I was just commenting on a reality of life. If you choose to take it differently... that's up to you. But I still say I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

At Sweets' lead, they left the room.

"Explain," Booth demanded firmly once the door had shut behind them. He started pacing, running his hand up and down the back of his neck.

"He's playing a game. Tormenting us."

"Yeah, I got that much. But what did that mean, what he said? Is he just trying to get under my skin?"

"He's referring to Dr. Brennan, clearly. He's telling us that she... was suffering from an immense amount of fear while they were with her."

He closed his eyes, biting down hard on his tongue and trying to focus on the pain.

"Of course she's afraid," he choked out at last. "Sweets, did you see those pictures of the last woman they took? Do you have any _idea_... what they've probably done to her..."

"There was a case we worked, years ago," the shrink said, more to himself. He hadn't been listening to what Booth had just said. "The killer scared his victim's to death."

Booth shivered. "You don't think that's what..?"

"No, I don't think that's their plan for Dr. Brennan. Besides, her fright will be more contained to fear for her life, or fear of pain. There isn't anything that would cause such an intense reaction from her. Although..." he stopped, chewing on his lip. "From the way Kevin said it, I'd say he was referring to a single situation. A time when she was more terrified than any other. Probably related to what they've done with her in their absence."

"What are you talking about? In their absence?"

Sweets grimaced. "I've realized that they suspected they were going to be brought in. They would have prepared for that."

"What?" Booth demanded. "Like, they had to finish _early?"_

"No, no. She's not dead, Booth. I'm sure of that."

He let out a heavy sigh, unsure whether to be relieved or more terrified. "Then what are you talking about?"

"What is Dr. Brennan most afraid of, Booth? You know her better than anyone else."

He stammered for a moment, going through memories in his head. "She was afraid of snakes, on that case we had..." he said slowly. And then, his eyes widened, and his blood ran cold. "Oh, God," he said, his voice strangled.

"What?" Sweets asked, but Booth pushed past him and went straight back into the room.

The shrink hurried after him, but he wasn't fast enough. It only took a few seconds for Booth to cross the room, haul Kevin out of his seat, and pin him by the throat to the back wall.

"You bastard," Booth hissed. "You buried her. _You_ _buried her alive_."

Kevin struggled against Booth's grip.

"Where? Where did you bury her, you son of a bitch? WHERE!"

"Booth!" Sweets said, trying to pull him away. "Booth, stop!"

He barely heard him. His grip only tightened. "You're going to tell me where she is, you slimy little..."

Somehow, Sweets managed to get in between them, and with a forceful shove that he certainly hadn't been expecting, he shoved them apart. He was breathing heavily as he stood between the two—Booth still looking for blood and Kevin clutching at his throat and bending over at the waist to catch his breath—and held his hands out towards both of them, as if that would stop anything from continuing.

But it did, because Booth's head was clearing. Kevin was never going to give him an address to look at, something that was only clarified as the other man began to laugh.

Sweets looked petrified; more so of what Booth might attempt than of the sociopath. But Booth stepped back, his face livid but his stance turning non-threatening. Slowly, Sweets relaxed his posture as well, stepping away from Kevin and towards the agent. He stood slightly in front of him, to the side, and watched Kevin with widened eyes.

The shrink then did something else that Booth had never seen him do. He stepped forward, seized the lawyer by his collar, and force-marched him to his seat, shoving him down into it harshly.

Booth's phone rang, and he gave one last furious glare to the man he so strongly hated before he left the room. He went immediately into the observation room, though, and watched Sweets return to his own seat before he answered the call.

"Booth."  
"It's me," said Angela's voice, "We didn't find her, Booth, but we... we found where she _was_."

"Where?"

"Your friend Charlie... I called him with another address that came up in my search. I should have seen it sooner, should have remembered..."

"Where, Ange?"

"The apartment building. The one Maggie lived in."

He blinked dumbly, watching as Sweets engaged in a silent war, staring coldly across the table at Kevin. He had to say, the younger man had some guts.

"How?" he said at last. Where in that building could she have been held?

Angela knew exactly what he meant. "The basement," she said heavily.

And suddenly, Booth remembered a conversation he'd had, way back when this had all started.

The building had a lot of problems. The elevator... it didn't go down to the basement. Hadn't for years. _No one_ had been down there in years...

"What did they find?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Charlie said for you to come there. And I'm going with you," she added firmly.

"Ange, I don't think that's—"

"I don't care, Booth. I'm going."

He sighed. "I'm on my way to the Jeffersonian," he told her, and hung up.

Reaching forward, he turned on the microphones so he could hear what was going on in the other room. They were speaking, now.

"—a lot to plan this," Sweets was saying.

Kevin laughed. "I don't know what you're trying to get me to say, Doc."

"Oh, nothing. I'm just making conversation. Aren't you?"

The lawyer leaned forward. "Tell you what. I shared a bit of interesting knowledge with your friend... I'll give you something to mull over, as well." Sweets nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Life... it starts in one place, and ends in another. Poetry in the ending; something for a writer to appreciate, I would think. A good final line."

Without another word, Sweets stood, pushed his chair in, and walked calmly to the door, letting himself out. Booth evacuated the observation room, joining him in the hallway.

"What does that mean?" he asked immediately.

"I don't know, yet. But it's important. And he's enjoying himself. I think it would be best to go over it with the group."

Booth nodded. "I'll drop you at the lab."

"Where are you going?"

"Angela and Charlie found our crime scene."

"Is she..?"

"She wasn't there," he said bitterly. "But... it's the place. And I'm going there."

Sweets looked like he wanted to object, but Booth gave him a warning look.

"I'm coming as well, then," the psychologist said, leaving no room for argument. "I need to see this, to get my profile complete. It might give us clues as to where they've moved her."

He ran his tongue over his dry lips and nodded. "Fine," he said shortly.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

He slammed his door behind him as he got out of the SUV, heading straight towards the building without waiting for Sweets. Angela kept pace beside him. A new doorman was standing off to the side, being questioned by a few agents. Booth flashed his badge at the entrance and ducked through the door. The lobby looked like he remembered it from the first day. Filled with police and loud from the complaints of occupants.

Charlie spotted him quickly, and waved for him to come over. The janitor's closet, where they had found the murder weapon from the Maggie Singer case, was sitting propped open. Charlie wore a grim look on his face.

As Booth got close enough, he could see the back panel of the closet was gone. A dusty staircase, wider than he'd been expecting and lit by a single light bulb. A tech was hunched at the bottom, snapping photographs.

"Took us a while to find it," Charlie told him. "We talked to a few of the people who live here, asked if there was anywhere in the building where something like this could happen. Freaked quite a few of them out, but they all said they'd never seen the basement, and didn't know how to get there. The elevator doesn't travel down; one of them said they hit the button by accident once and the whole thing jammed."

Booth nodded, his eyes still locked on the staircase.

Charlie stepped fully out of the way, gesturing for him to go ahead. His face hard, he stepped into the closet and through the opening. The stairs squeaked as they began the decent. When they were low enough that they could see, Angela let out a strangled gasp from behind him.

He felt like he was going to be sick as he took in each detail one by one. His stomach spun.

The wall closest to him was covered in weapons and tools. A few were bloody, and the floor was littered with dried droplets of the vital fluid. His teeth clenching, he came to the bottom and stepped down onto the cement floor.

A mattress was leaned against the side of the staircase, coated in blood. But he knew, the moment his eyes landed on the second mattress, that the blood on this first one must be Veronica's. His mind barely processed it as he stepped across the space. Angela hovered on the bottom stair, her face sickly pale, and Sweets stepped down beside her before following cautiously behind Booth.

There were shackles, attached to a chain that was bolted to the wall. They lay open on the mattress, along with a coil of bloody rope. He hunched down next to it, holding his breath as the stench hit him. Tears bit at the corners of his eyes. He could see flecks of skin in the rope and on the edge of the shackles.

They'd bound her here. Clamped her in like an animal attached to the wall. They hadn't let her move even to go the bathroom. For five days.

He suddenly had a very strong desire to return to the Hoover and kill both Kevin and Joel. Slowly.

"Oh _God," _Angela cried from the stairs, and he turned, pushing back to his feet. She was staring, wide-eyed, at something that was wrapped around the railing for the stairs. As he took a few steps back towards her he realized what it was.

A whip.

All the air rushed out of his lungs.

Angela spun and dashed up the stairs. Booth cast Sweets one quick glance, and then hurried after her.

He found her hunched over a trashcan, and his gut clenched and nearly rebelled against him. He stayed back until she stood up, knowing full well that if he got close enough he was going to lose his stomach as well.

She stepped away from the trashcan, and he moved forward at once, pulling her into his arms and wrapping them tightly around her. A ragged sob broke loose from her throat, and he swallowed tightly, the tears coming back to his eyes.

"What they did..." Angela whispered. "Bren, she..."

"We'll find her," he forced out. "We're going to... we're going to get her back. I promise..."

Her shoulders shook, and he held her closer as she clutched her arms around him in return. They drew comfort from each other.

Sweets came up the stairs and stood a few feet away from them. His face had a green tinge to it.

"We don't have anything else to go off of now," Angela said, breaking the embrace and stepping back. She brushed at her eyes, sniffing before she hardened her resolve. Trying to be strong, to pull through. To come up with the solution for Brennan. "Do we?"

"I may have... something," Sweets said hesitantly. Booth looked at him expectantly. "There was a void. On the floor."

"Like something was moved?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, exactly. And if you noticed, there was a second entrance down there. A staircase in the corner that led to a bulkhead. There was a ramp propped up on it."

Booth swallowed. "That's how they got her out, then. Any idea what she was in?"

Sweets licked his dry lips nervously. "The shape and size... suggests a casket."

Booth swore under his breath, and Angela looked like she might throw up again.

"They... they put her in a casket?" she forced out disbelievingly, looking between the two of them. "Booth... Booth, they _buried_ her?"

He ground his teeth, and then nodded.

She found a wall to lean up against, shaking her head, eyes huge with horror.

"How long?" she said finally.

Booth glanced at Sweets, who answered, "Judging more from my instinct than anything else... two hours, at the most."

"Alright, so we've got a tight window to find her in..." he said, swallowing. He felt his heartbeat picking up again. He had been sure that finding the killers would mean finding Bones. But now... now the killers were in custody and she was still out there. She was still on the edge of death.

They still might not be able to get to her in time.

"Life starts in one place, ends in another. Poetry... in the ending, a writer can appreciate that. And something about a final line."

Booth nodded, remembering the words.

"What?" Angela demanded, her brows pulled together as she looked between the two men in confusion.

"It's what Kevin said to Sweets."

"So it's... what? A clue?"

"I think so, yes," Sweets explained, "He also said something about fear, which is how we guessed she was buried alive."

Angela set her jaw. "I'll kill them myself for this, Booth. I swear to God I will. You have no idea... what the Gravedigger did to her, it ate at her. It still gets to her—she told me she still has nightmares about it. After all this time. And I know Jack does, too."

"I have some from time to time," he agreed, "But mine... it's not the same. I was in danger, yeah. But I wasn't buried. And I... can't even imagine what that must have been like. Being underground like that..."

Angela waved a hand to cut him off, and he snapped his mouth shut. She had a good point. Talking about it was only going to make this harder.

"What were you thinking, Sweets?" she asked, turning her attention to the shrink.

"He mentions the end of life. Which ties into the coffin."

"We should be looking in a graveyard," Booth said stiffly.

"That could be anywhere," Angela murmured. "We can hardly search every one..."

"We're going to narrow it down," he said firmly, flipping open his cell phone and hitting Cam's speed dial.

They were going to need some help.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Even, steady. Count the breaths. _

_ One._

_ Two._

_ Three._

_ Don't panic._

_ Four._

_ Five. _

_ Six._

_ Seven..._

She kept her eyes closed, measuring each breathe as it filled her lungs. She paced them as evenly as she could. Clinging to the control of the action.

The pain was another focus that she found herself grateful for. Anything, anything at all, was better than the walls that were closing in on her.

They had freed her hands at some point after they had drugged her. The pain in her arms was almost unbearable. She kept them at her sides, slightly tucked under her weight. It felt more natural than pulling them in front of her, and the pain was dulled when her arms were back. Her shoulders burned in the agony, though.

Her clothing had been changed as well, something she was also trying very hard not to think about.

_They were in a hurry_, she reminded herself, _they wouldn't have, couldn't have..._

But they had _changed her outfit_. Her _entire_ outfit. She was clean, too. And she couldn't help but feel ashamed of the relief that she also felt with this detail. Because the air was clear, and she was dry. No blood, no excrement, no water seeping at her. The cuts were still present, but she had not been freshly wounded while she was unconscious. The clean fabric brushed against each individual cut whenever she shifted her position.

She had no idea how long she'd been here. But the air hadn't gone stale yet, and it certainly wasn't as thin as she remembered from the latter hours of her last experience underground. Not that she could be sure she was even underground.

She had awoken here, trapped, with no idea where she was or how she'd been transported. She had not been conscious for any burial, so she had no way of knowing if there was dirt above her or not. Pounding on the lid and shouting till her voice was hoarse had done nothing but make her arms ache until she had thought she would surely pass out. Which might have been a better idea, upon reflection. It would cost her less air, and save her from panicking.

Swallowing harshly, she opened her eyes in the blackness and tried to pretend that there was open space in front of her. _Just lying on your bed at home. No... at Booth's place. _

She breathed in a slow breath through her nose. His apartment had a distinct scent to it. Something uniquely _his_. She conjured it up in her memory. Allowed a smile to grace her lips.

_Yes, you're at Booth's place. He's making breakfast... everything is okay_.

Her hand brushed against the inside wall of the casket. She sucked in a sharp breath, reality snapping into place unexpectedly.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

_Please. Please get me out of here. I need to get back... I need to get back to my son. I need to get back to Booth. _

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself that Booth was coming, she had to accept that his odds of finding her were slim. This was where she was going to die. This time, she wasn't going to be as lucky. There was no airbag here, no battery acid, no spare tire, no cell phone.

And no tools to use to write a farewell note.

**I think these chapters might count as cliffhangers, so I apologize for that. I know the pain; I'm a reader as well as a writer on here. If you are wondering why I'm so horrible and make you wait a whole week for the next chapter... it is because if I stray from my schedule than I will end up doing what I did with my first stories, such as What She's Been Through and What Brings Them Together. A month between updates was not acceptable standards for me to have. So... I apologize for the weekly updates if they seem slow, but it's the only way I keep my sanity. **

**Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed; I'm so glad this story has caught the interest of so many of you. Drop me a line and let me know your thoughts on this latest update!**


	30. Letters From the Sky

**A/N: I am so sorry for the delay on this chapter, and on AAFY and Hidden, if any of you are also reading either of those. I moved into college this past week, and it's been nothing but hectic. I will try very hard to be on time for the next one, even if it means missing an AAFY update. When you reach the end of this chapter you will understand why. Oh, and I apologize in advance.**

**Song for this one is Letters From the Sky by Civil Twilight.  
**

_Chapter 29: Letters From the Sky_

_One of these days the sky's gonna break and everything will escape and I'll know  
One of these days the mountains are gonna fall into the sea and they'll know  
That you and I were made for this  
I was made to taste your kiss  
We were made to never fall away  
Never fall away_

_One of these days letters are gonna fall from the sky telling us all to go free_  
_But until that day I'll find a way to let everybody know_  
_'Cause you're coming back, you're coming back for me_  
_'Cause even though you left me here I have nothing left to fear_  
_These are only walls that hold me here_  
_Hold me here_

_July 15__th__, 2018_

The lab was noisy, for the first time in days. From Sweets prediction, they had most likely under two hours to find her, if they had any chance of pulling her out alive. And with the pressure mounting and their fears starting to break loose from their careful control, no one was ready to back down.

The fact that they were all exhausted most certainly wasn't helping, either. Angela was at everyone's throats, Sweets looked like he was fighting some sort of nervous breakdown, and Max was handcuffed to one of the tables.

Booth rolled the key through his fingers, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the ceiling. Some things couldn't be helped, and this was the only thing he'd been able to come up with, seeing as sending him out of the Jeffersonian to get him out of the way was obviously a terrible idea. There was really no telling what he might do, and he was so quiet at the moment, in the midst of the chaos, that Booth was certain he must be coming up with something. Something that wasn't likely to be a _good _idea.

He knew a few things, himself, about anger. And Max's anger, righteous or not, was not the logic that she needed. She needed rationality right about now. She needed brilliant minds working as hard as they could. That was how they were going to figure this out.

"They've given us everything we need," Sweets murmured, his voice carrying surprisingly through a gap in the talking.

"You've said that," Russ responded tiredly.

"Let's go over it again," Cam suggested, her eyes sliding across their little gathering, trying to get support from the gazes that she met.

Booth sucked in a sharp breath, and then spoke. "Life starts in one place and ends in another."

"Poetry in the ending," Sweets added.

"She'd appreciate it because she's a writer, and the final line," Angela finished heavily.

"So far," Cam tried, "We know that she must be… in a casket. Which we've already figured out falls under the part about life."

Russ nodded. "It ends at a graveyard," he muttered.

"Or a crematorium," Zach offered. Booth shook.

"No," he said sharply, shaking his head. _"No."_

"Her greatest fear is of being buried alive," Sweets cut in, "While they show a certain… fascination with fire, as well as all other torture implements, they wouldn't go off script with this particular aspect. She's buried somewhere, of that I'm certain."

"Where, then?" Max snapped, speaking for the first time in a long while. "Where is my daughter, if you're so sure of yourself?"

"Dad," Russ tried warningly, but now that Max had started, it was like he couldn't stop.

"No, I'm sick of this," he hissed, wrenching his wrist forward and rattling the chains. "I want _answers_. I want to know how this happened, I want the men that did this to her to _die_. And I want… I want her _back," _he finished raggedly, his voice cracking.

And then he didn't say anything else, bowing his head.

Booth and the others looked away.

"The rest of the clue," Hodgins reminded them cautiously.

"Right," Cam sighed. "So… poetry in the ending. A final line."

"Does everything have to have a deeper meaning?" Russ questioned.

"With them… yes," Sweets said. He glanced at Max, obviously afraid that this might provoke another response. But Brennan's father was silent now.

"A final line… does that refer to her books? They said she'd appreciate it because she's a writer, didn't they?" Angela asked, glancing between Booth and Sweets for confirmation.

"Yeah… maybe. Do we have her books here, at the lab?"

"I do, in my office," Angela said, her eyes widening. She was gone in a flash.

"Alright, what about the rest of it?" Booth tried. "Or… any other options, if this turns up nothing?"

"Final line. That could be the books." Hodgins reasoned.

"Or an epitaph," Zach said calmly.

They all looked at each other. "The poem," Sweets murmured.

"So… something about the gravestone in particular, then."

"They'd have used her name," Cam said, sitting upright abruptly. "They'd have put _her_ name on that gravestone."

"Yes," Sweets agreed, his eyes brightening. "Yes, that's it. That's got to be it."

Zach was the one who turned to his computer this time, tapping at the keys. Angela returned with a stack of books, and they tumbled out of her arms onto the nearest empty table, scattering. The pages of a few fell open, and the sound was loud in the sudden quiet that had engulfed them.

Elsewhere, other squints still worked diligently. As it had for the past few days of torture, the sight still threw him off guard. Like these people were being disrespectful, by not feeling what he was feeling. Like it was _wrong_ to act as though all was normal, when it was so far from it.

He stepped forward with Russ and Sweets, and they began to pick up the books, turning to the final page of each and reading the lines out loud. They sounded cliché, suddenly, taken so far out of context. He hated that. Hated her work sounding like this. Hated the possibility that it was a clue, that these horrible, sick men would use it against her. Use her talents against her.

"This one," Russ said with conviction. Booth turned to him, to see he was holding up the last Kathy Reichs novel. _"Kathy had begun life in another part of the country entirely, had seen so many things; and even if she was settling now for something she was unsure of, at least it was there, and it meant she wasn't alone."_

"Is it Kathy's life, or Dr. B's, then?" Hodgins asked, frowning. "I mean… they aren't attached to her books or anything, right?"

"No, they want Dr. Brennan specifically," Sweets said firmly. "All of their past behavior gives us that as the only conclusion. The books… are merely a tool for them. And these clues… are all meant to taunt us. They know they can't do anything more to her than they've already done. They know it's over for them. So Kevin is resorting to _us_."

Booth ground his teeth.

"There are no results in my calculations for a Temperance Brennan buried within a possible distance that fits within our parameters," Zach informed them, spinning his chair to face the group again. He looked unsure of himself. Pale with worry, because he had not succeeded. He wasn't the kind of person who was used to failure.

There was a collective sigh which was almost a groan. _Now what?_ they all seemed to be thinking.

"Maybe we were wrong about the name, then. Or maybe… they buried her in an unmarked grave?" Booth said, rubbing his hand raggedly down his face and feeling more and more exhausted by the minute. They were running out of options. And out of time.

"Like her mother?" Max murmured, still not lifting his head.

Booth swallowed heavily. "Maybe, Max."

"Or maybe… we're looking in the wrong place," Angela added, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" both Booth and Cam asked together.

"Kevin said something about the beginning and the end. We've only been focusing on the end."

"So… we should focus on the beginning? The beginning of what, the kidnapping? The first victim? _What?"_

"Brennan's beginning."

He looked at her dumbly, wondering if this was something he wasn't getting because he was too out of it from the adrenaline and exhaustion mix, or because he just simply didn't _get_ it. He felt a twinge of added frustration.

"Joy Keenan," Angela said sharply, turning to Zach and giving him a commanding look. His mouth hung open. "Search," she added pointedly.

"Oh!" He turned again and started typing once more.

"Joy Keenan?" Cam asked, looking between them with obvious confusion.

"Bones' birth name," Booth said distractedly, moving to lean over Zach's shoulder.

"Why didn't I know this?" she muttered, shaking her head but stepping forward to join him.

A single result flashed up on the screen, and Zach immediately dug deeper.

An obituary in a local paper from that morning. _A beautiful woman with many talents. She was always so much fun to spend time with. _

"It's her," he said sharply. "Get me an address on the cemetery, Zach."

The squint nodded, and the address appeared within seconds.

Max was on his feet, and Booth tossed Russ the key to the cuffs before he headed straight for the door, calling over his shoulder, "One of you stay with Nick!"

Angela, Cam, Zach, and Hodgins chased after him, and he didn't question it as they tailed him all the way to the parking lot and piled into his SUV as quickly as they could. No one waited to see if it would be Max or Russ who came after them. They could catch up, as far as Booth was concerned. The number one priority right now was getting to that cemetery as fast as possible.

He flipped on his siren and lights and whipped through the parking garage, bursting out into traffic and beginning a dangerous weaving game. He radioed the newest information into his office, calling for back-up and for equipment to be brought immediately to the address. They were going to need help to get her out of there, and he knew it.

Beside him, Angela was clinging to the door handle, her expression fearful and her face pale. He knew that neither had anything to do with his reckless driving, although Cam was leaning forward worriedly from one of the seats out back, looking as though she wanted desperately to have her own brake pedal just in case.

He was reminded, unpleasantly, of the drive to that abandoned quarry. If there was a day in his life that he would gladly erase above all others, it would be that one. More specifically, those particular final hours, and that drive itself. Staring out over the edge and the very image of 'impossible.'

A miracle had been granted that day, for him, for Bones, for all the others involved. He knew enough about fate, _believed _enough about fate, to know that the odds of repeating that outcome, of having this miracle come back to grace them again… they weren't very good.

Why did this have to happen to them? What did they do to deserve to have so many horrible things happen to them, over and over again? How much more of this were they expected to endure? How many more times was he going to have to watch his entire world crumble around him and fall to the floor in ashes that he couldn't avoid stepping on without standing still and simply staring at the wreckage?

There was nothing after this. Nothing at all, if she didn't make it out alive. Because if he lost her… then it was all over. _Everything_ would be over for him. Happiness, love, dedication to his job… it all revolved around her. She was the only star in his universe. The only thing that mattered.

And he hated that he had ever doubted her. Ever thought, even for the briefest moment, that she would leave him on purpose. That she would choose to book that flight to Spain without so much as a word to him about it.

He knew her better than that. And when he found her again… he was never going to let her go. And he was never going to let his fears take over for his faith. Because he trusted her with everything—with his life, and most importantly, with his heart. And he wanted to get that chance to tell her it himself. To tell her that he belonged to her in every way, shape, and form, and he needed her there. To make her believe that he was hers, forever and always, was one of the many thoughts pounding away in his head as the wheels spun along the pavement.

He was forced to slow down as he turned down a narrow, beat-up road that was two-way despite its thin and windy nature, and with each bump he felt his heart rate kicking up a notch. They passed a truck that was heading back to the main road, and Booth caught a glimpse of a young woman in the driver's seat and an elderly man with his head bowed beside her.

Forcing himself to remember where he was and where he was going, he started to plan how they were going to pull this off. They had to find her, first. And then, _somehow_, they had to dig her up. With as little serious damage to the surrounding gravesites as possible. Bones, though, came first. Everything else… it came in the sort of afterthought that didn't belong. The sort of afterthought that floated in simply because it had found a gap in the midst of the panic that occupied the rest of his thoughts. It was like his brain was trying to find order. Trying to put things in their places. The places they belonged in, but had been shoved out of as the chaos took over.

A small building that appeared to be more of a shack than an abode of any kind, came into view as they rounded the corner. At the same time, the trees thinned out and then cut short all together as the full expanse of the graveyard stretched away in front of the vehicle. Crouching in the dirt by the side of the shack was an older gentleman clutching a spade and tugging at a vine-like plant that was in all likelihood a weed of some sort. He didn't stop his work as the SUV ground to a halt and the team piled out simultaneously.

Booth had his badge in hand as he jogged the short distance. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. We have reason to believe that there was been a crime committed in this area, and that a woman's life may be in severe danger."

The man squinted up at him, and then stabbed the spade forcefully into the ground before shoving himself up to his feet, wincing as he pushed himself off his knees using the wall behind him for support.

"What's all this, now?"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth ground out. His patience was thin and his heart was pounding frantically in his chest. "She's my partner, and she's missing. She's been _buried_ here."

The man frowned. "You need help finding the headstone?" He glanced between them, his scowl deepening as he seemed to notice none of them possessed flowers or any other sentiments that might be placed at a burial site.

"She's _alive_," Booth snapped. "I need you to tell me where the most recent grave digging has been done."

"The last burial was a week ago."

"Joy Keenan," Hodgins said firmly, stepping in. "We're looking for a gravestone with Joy Keenan on it."

"It would be very recent," Booth pressed, but Hodgins cut him off, shaking his head.

"It would be older. Somewhere that maybe doesn't get visited often?"

Booth gave him a confused looking, almost wanting to protest. But a part of him could feel that Jack was sure of himself. That he knew what he was saying to be true. And he wouldn't mess around, nor would he guess. Not with Brennan's life on the line.

"You say there's a woman buried alive? In an old grave in my cemetery?"

"Yes." Angela, this time. "And we need you to help us find her. Please, we don't have much time!" Her eyes glistened with a mix of fear and determination, and she leaned forward as she tried to convey herself as quickly as possible.

Booth swallowed. Every minute they stood here was another minute's worth of air that she didn't have left to breathe.

"I can check the records…" he suggested.

It was Cam who snapped now. "We don't have time for that! Do you know where we can look or not?"

He stammered, and finally shook his head.

"Split up!" Booth ordered, looking at each of them in turn. If you find it, scream as loud as you can. Whistle, wave your arms, _I don't care_. Just get us over there as fast as you can."

They nodded and split, weaving around each other and trying to stay on separate paths as they began to half walk and half job up the rows, scanning the engravings on each stone with determination.

Booth's gait increased with each step that he took, until he was nearly running, the names blurring past him the further he went. She was here. He knew she was.

_Dave Henderson. Erin Desjardins. Colby Rivers. Samantha Gustavson. _

His heart beat out the staccato rhythm of a mistreated clock, until he was sure he would fall over. He wasn't even sure when it was he began shouting, but suddenly he was aware he was screaming her name, leaving a few seconds in between each call as though he expected to be able to hear a response. He knew it was futile. He knew he was making no sense. But he couldn't control it. Couldn't stop himself as her name tumbled off his lips, ripping its way loose from his throat, over and over again.

Cam caught him as he stumbled at the end of his row, her eyes wide with concern and her face drawn. "Seeley?" she said sharply, her voice shrill. He couldn't remember if he'd ever heard that sound before. He didn't think he had, in all the years he had known her. Somehow, that only seemed to make things worse.

He took a few steadying breaths, blearily scanning the gravestones in all directions. Through his blurred view, all the stones seemed to meld together, the grass weaving between in an odd zigzag pattern. It reminded him, oddly, of one of the abstract, modern paintings he had seen once, on a museum trip. Bones had taken him, and they had debated the meanings behind the paintings, and about whether or not Parker was capable of creating works of art just as messy and pointless as some of the ones they were staring at.

It had been one of those good days. One of the days that made him realize that it didn't matter what they were doing, or that he usually disliked art museums. It was the fact that she was there that made it all worthwhile. It had nothing to do with his view on the trip, and everything to do with the smile on her face or the excitement in her voice when she pointed out something that interested her.

"Over here!" came a shrill scream, and both of their heads snapped up. Booth was gone, and he could still feel the imprint of Cam's hands from where they had rested cautiously on his shoulder even as he sprinted. He heard her following him, and it only succeeded in convincing him to put even more strength behind his strides. He had to get there.

Angela was kneeling in front of a plot, her eyes on the gravestone and her fingers threaded through the grass. Dirt was caked in her nails and tears were streaming down her face. Hodgins had a gentle hand on her shoulder, and it was evident that she wanted to continue trying to dig with her bare hands.

Approaching sirens signaled the arrival of the backup, and hopefully the equipment that would make this rescue possible.

"They wouldn't have had time to dig up the original casket," Hodgins said swiftly, once they had both joined. Zach arrived a moment later, followed by Sweets. "They most likely placed the second casket directly on top of the first. It can't be too far down, given the standard distance for burials. We need shovels… if we can get to the lid, we may be able to pry it open, or at least leverage it to get some air in for her."

Booth nodded, hearing the words and knowing that whatever Hodgins came up with, it would be good. He had saved her in that car, years ago, just as she had saved him. The squint knew what he was doing, now more than ever.

It was Sweets who ran back towards the shack, while the others focused on the land in front of them. The grass was more like sod than actual grown in grass, and it was clear it had been freshly laid to cover the new digging. It didn't quite match, in height or color, to the patches around it.

The gravestone simply read _Joy Keenan, 1921-1989. _For a brief moment, his thoughts strayed to the second body. The sixty-something year old who had been lying here at rest. Who had been disturbed because two sick men wanted to be poetic in the middle of their disturbing game of horror and torment.

Sweets came back faster than any of them had been expecting, holding two shovels. Booth immediately took one, and Hodgins seized the other. Together, they slammed their tools into the ground and began to unceremoniously toss the loose soil aside. The others moved out of their way.

Flashing lights signified the arrival of the backup, and a few agents had piled out and were talking with the old man who was in charge of the grounds. Two paramedics jogged towards them from the ambulance that sat ready to go on the edge of the dirt road. The lights all mixed together in his peripheral as Booth turned his head downward and continued to dig.

The thud came from Hodgins' shovel, and all eyes immediately snapped up. Angela gasped softly, but the sound carried in the sudden quiet. And then the effort was doubled, and more shovels were being brought over. Angela snatched the first one that was brought over out of the hand of an agent who had no doubt planned to use it himself, and went at the dirt with a will, her jaw set and her eyes blazing with something akin to furious determination. She was channeling her anger, and it was working for her. The _thunk_ of metal hitting on the solid surface of the casket echoed through the air over and over again, and Booth hoped with each one that they were denting the surface. That they were damaging her prison in some way.

And he prayed that she knew they were coming for her. That she knew they were here, and that she was going to be rescued.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was familiar, at least. The light-headed feeling, the scraping in her throat, the way the air was so thin around her. She felt like she was being strangled by invisible ropes. Despite her sore muscles, she reached up to touch her fingertips to the lid above her. It was as if they were a dream, and each time she found them there she was reminded they were real. This place was real.

And with this all being real… she was really about to die.

Unconsciousness was creeping towards her, and this time it was not a welcome blanket coming to engulf her. This time it was a finalization. With every blink of her eyes, she wondered if it would be her last. She was on the verge, after all, of falling asleep.

Only, falling asleep, here… meant dying. Because it was like falling asleep. Those were the exact words she had used so long ago, when she'd been reassuring the father of the Kent boys. No, they hadn't suffered, she had told him. She rarely lied, but that… had been a lie. Maybe not one she'd known at the time, though, she thought irrelevantly. After all, she hadn't known the absolute horrors of burial, of the walls closing in while the air itself began to kill you, until after she had made that statement.

And then, she wondered to herself if that was the last thought she was going to have. An irrelevant one. And she vowed to not let it be, as her ears began to buzz softly. She shifted her position, trying to hear anything. Trying to hear her clothing rustling, or the creak of the paneling. But there was nothing.

She swallowed dryly, and tried to clear her throat.

The sound was foreign, and odd.

Her thoughts began to drift, and she stared into the utter blackness as she tried to focus. Tried to find the thing that she so desperately needed to be focused on. It was there, wasn't it? It had been here only a moment ago. There was something she wanted to be thinking about, something she needed to remember, even if it was only for the split second before everything faded away.

She didn't believe in anything after this, did she? No, she didn't. There had been nothing before this life, and there wouldn't be anything after it. Booth had argued with her about that so many times… she smiled. She was starting to get delirious. Although, she probably had been for a while, and she was only just noticing it now.

Booth.

That was it. A warm feeling wandered through her, momentarily creating a lapse in pain. But the swelling her chest panged dully, and she forced herself to suck in a few more breaths and not think about if they would be her last.

Booth.

There was something she had wanted to tell him. Something she had been dying to tell him for so long. Why had she had trouble with that? She couldn't remember, and that almost frustrated her. But at the same time she was tired. So, so tired. Her eyes slid shut. She felt her chest rise with another breath, and her heart pounded with the agony that came with realizing she could not picture his face. She fought, struggling to pry her eyelids open, warring within herself to not let the haze wash over and take her last thoughts away from her.

He was warm. The memories that she couldn't quite grip were warm, too. And the words… there were words. Words she had needed to say.

Her dry lips parted.

"Love," she whispered, the realization bursting like a true light behind her eyelids. The word hung, and it had a beautiful sound to it. Such a beautiful sound. Why hadn't she said it more? There had been a reason for that, too. But she couldn't think of it now. She was pretty sure it had been a good reason.

His face came to her, then, and she smiled. A calm, peaceful sort of smile. Yes, she remembered.

There was a dull banging sound, somewhere nearby. That was new.

And then there was nothing more.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

He was on his hands and knees, leaning over the edge and wiping the rest of the dirt to the sides. The top of the casket was indeed dented. But the damage hadn't done much. By now, though, more people were crowded around. There was a lot of noise, and shouting, and the area had been taped off.

They couldn't get to the sides, and even with the shovel shoved down between the dirt and the lid, they couldn't pry it open. _"Nails,"_ Hodgins had muttered darkly.

"She doesn't have much longer," Sweets murmured to no one in particular, and Booth closed his eyes, swallowing harshly.

"We need to get air in there. Now," he said firmly, turning to look at each of them in turn.

"Get us a drill!" Cam shouted across the open area. One of the agents by the shack gave a thumbs up to indicate he had understood, and then jogged to the door and wrenched it open, vanishing inside.

They waited tensely, until he returned with a battery-powered drill and a long bit.

The old man started to step forward, as if to protest the invasion of his small workplace and the use of his things, but then his gaze drifted towards the crime scene tape and the cluster of people standing around the dig-site, and his mouth snapped shut. He stepped back.

Booth stepped forward, intent on taking the drill himself. But Hodgins beat him to it, efficiently testing out the speed and general ability of the drill before he crouched down in the dirt beside the edge of the hole.

He gave Booth a look that pierced him through, and the agent nodded and joined him. Together, they positioned the drill bit at the lower end of the coffin, off to the side. The plan was only to drill far enough to allow air in, but they weren't taking any chances with her safety when they weren't sure of her position inside of the casket.

The team was silent, all eyes focused on the same point, as Hodgins began to drill. The unspoken communication was obvious. Booth was in charge here. He was the one who called the shots, who would stop this if necessary or make the decision of how to change the plan. Hodgins was simply the one carrying out the actions, because they were all aware, even if they weren't saying it, that Booth should not be handling power tools at this moment. Even now, his hands trembled as they rested on the surface of the casket, feeling the vibrations from the drill and knowing that the uncontrolled motion had nothing to do with the tool itself.

It didn't take as long as Booth had been expecting. Soon Hodgins was pulling the drill back up, and Booth reached forward automatically to brush the debris away from the site of the small opening. He turned to the entomologist and nodded towards the other side of the casket.

They turned their attention to another hole, and then another. Again and again, they repeated the task, consoling themselves with the knowledge that with each and every one that they completed, they were helping her in some way.

At least, that's what Booth was trying to convince himself of.

Because a small part of him was still wondering. Wondering if this wasn't what the brothers had planned all along. Wondering if there was something they were missing, something that would make this worse. Wondering if she was even in this grave at all, or if they were going to find the inside hauntingly empty when they finally hauled it out of this godforsaken hole.

She had to be here, though. There was simply no other way this could end, because if she wasn't… then he didn't know what would happen next. He didn't even know if there _was_ a next.

The equipment had arrived, and as they continued to methodically dig into the surface of the rectangular prison, the crane-like device was finally brought into a hovering position over their heads. And now they were forced to step back, all of them, as the professionals swarmed from the vehicle and started hooking straps up and shouting orders to one another.

Hodgins wrapped an arm around Angela's shaking shoulders, and Cam kept close by Booth's side, her arm touching his as if to tell him she was there to lean on. His eyes, though, belonged solely to the ground before him.

It seemed like an eternity before anything actually happened. And then, slowly, the casket was being lifted free. He watched, his jaw set and a vein in his neck pulsing rapidly, as each inch of the horrible thing was hauled loose from the soil.

And then it was on the ground, and the straps pooled loosely as the men moved around it once more, unhooking things. A crowbar appeared, and Booth stepped forward, away from the line that was formed out of their team on the sidelines.

They gave one to him, and another man took a second one from the back of the truck. They pushed the tools under the edge of the lid, and they turned to each other, giving one firm nod before they shoved.

It creaked, but didn't move. Again, again, again. After the third, a loud crack sounded, and the lid hissed open. Bent nails lined the edge.

Grinding his teeth together, with one final grunt the lid was thrown up and over, and the casket was open at last.

**Right about now you are planning my untimely doom. But please know that I didn't have much choice on this one. Ending here worked better than ending randomly a short while later, and I want to spend as much time on the next scenes as I find necessary. They simply wouldn't have fit. So... thank you all so much for waiting patiently for this one, and I will _hopefully_ have another chapter ready to go for next Tuesday.**

**Let me know your thoughts on this one! :)**


	31. Dark Blue

**A/N: I can't thank you all enough for your patience in waiting for this one. I know the cliffhanger I left last time was absolutely horrible. I hope this will make you like me again. Song is Dark Blue by Jack's Mannequin. **

**Side Note: If you are also following Hidden and/or Always All For You... then I regret to inform you that they are going on hold. Temporarily. They will return, but most likely after I have finished writing this one in full. I've decided one story at a time is much more reasonable for my current lifestyle.**_  
_

_Chapter 30: Dark Blue_

_Slow down.. this night's a perfect shade of  
Dark blue (dark blue)  
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room when I'm here with you  
I said the world could be burning down  
Dark blue (dark blue)  
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room well I'm here with you  
I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue..  
Just dark blue_

_This flood (this flood) is slowly rising up swallowing the ground_  
_Beneath my feet, Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition so_  
_I'll swim (I'll swim) as the water rises up, the sun is sinking down_  
_And now all I can see are the planets in a row_  
_Suggesting it's best that I slow down_

_July 15__th__, 2018_

Everything was black, but there was noise. It was odd, how it didn't seem strange in the slightest. The sound was just… in existence. It was there, and it was separate from her. She co-existed with the noise.

She didn't know what it was. Didn't know what she should be expecting to hear, or what she wanted to hear. She did remember that noise was bad, though. The approach meant pain was coming soon. The sounds were a warning.

They told her that there was no escape, that the fear was all she could hope for. The only thing left to cling to on her desperate tether to reality.

Reality.

Was that what this was, then? She thought she remembered more than this. She thought she remembered something more to reality. But it wasn't there, in her head, and she wasn't concerned. Nothing seemed particularly bothersome.

Although, she did want to go back to the blackness. The silence that had been with it before. And oddly, the silence was like darkness in itself. Darkness in each of her senses. And there was too much light, now. Far too much light.

But it wasn't just sound, now. It was invading her vision. The light was cutting in.

She wished it would go away, and she wondered if that was a bad thing. It was supposed to be a bad thing, wasn't it? She remembered wanting to fight the darkness before. But it was so hard.

And she was so tired.

Just so tired.

The sound was louder now. Her vision blurred. Her lungs felt like they might burst. Something had changed. The air was cool.

And suddenly, she was cold. So cold. Her eyelids fluttered. They had been only partially open, she noticed. Now, they hung at half-mast, warm moisture trickling from them. It contrasted with the cold. The cold of her skin, the cold that clung to every inch of her.

She would have shivered if she could.

The cold was not like the darkness. It was not welcoming. She wanted warmth, more than she had wanted light.

If she had ever wanted the light.

But she had. She had already remembered that, and she clung to it. It seemed solid, in relation to everything else.

There was movement. That was new, too.

And then fiery pain. Cold fire that bordered on something else. She would have cried out if she could have. But she realized she could not. Her eyelids fluttered once more.

The sounds started to fade. The cold was numbing, until she couldn't feel much of anything. That felt better. The darkness bordered in on her again, making sound fuzzy and her vision swim.

Yes, the darkness. She was supposed to fear it, as far as she knew… but it was welcoming her now. A warm blanket crept over, covering her. It felt like home. She remembered something, something she couldn't place. But it was warm, too. And she didn't know why, but it made the light pinpoint.

A single star as the shadows shrouded in and claimed her. But she kept it there, watching it, and she refused to let it go. She didn't know why, or how, but she watched it, even as all else vanished once again, and she forgot reality as well as her reasoning.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Bones! _Bones!"_

She was pale, so pale that he immediately felt his blood drain to nearly match hers. He reached in to touch her cheek, his fingers automatically sliding down her icy skin to find the pulse point on her neck.

For a moment, there was nothing, and he felt like he might cease to breathe right then and there. But then, suddenly, there was a small thrum against the pads of his fingers, and it was like she was breathing straight into his flesh. The life flowed back through him as the relief made its way through his system.

"I've got a pulse!" he shouted, even though he was barely aware of the others around him. He felt alone, in this moment. Trapped here with just her, just Bones. His heart pounded, and he finally broke his gaze away from her face, frantically looking around. The EMTs were crowding around behind him and he sidestepped quickly, his hand staying clenched on the edge of the casket rim as he watched.

They started calling orders to each other, and it all rushed straight through him. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Couldn't, because the moment he looked away she might disappear again. Might be gone from him, this time forever. He could not move.

But they were moving. A gurney was next to the casket now, and they were positioning themselves to lift her out. Booth was pushed back, and he stumbled, his feet odd beneath him, seeming like strange objects disconnected from him. Because he was her. Her and him. And she was there, while he was here. She could not look at him.

She was nearly dead, and the very thought almost choked a strangled sob out of his throat.

It was as they lifted her that he finally became aware of the details he had been missing. There was a bandage on her leg, and blood stains on the fabric of her clothing. Her pale flesh was darkened with bruises and marred with slices and burn marks.

His fists clenched by his sides.

Her lip was split, her hair cut and tangled. Her face was still hers, but the marks across it made his heart throb. He wanted to pull her to him. He wanted to never let her go again.

And he wanted to kill the men who had done all this to her.

As they started to wheel the gurney away, he saw the raw markings that dug deep into her delicate ankles. Her wrists, too, were patched with thick lines that matched the shackles he had seen in that godforsaken hell-hole.

They were heading across the cemetery now, and Booth realized with a jolt that they were getting farther away from him, and his legs didn't seem to want to move. He forced himself forward, and once he started to move he couldn't stop himself from jogging to catch up. The EMT nearest to him gave him a surprised look as he took a position alongside Brennan's prone body and took hold of the edge of the gurney.

They reached the ambulance, and Booth noticed that the other members of the team had come as well, going ahead. They were there already. Angela was crying, clutching at Hodgins, who didn't look so dry-eyed himself.

Fearfully, Angela met his eyes. She gave a little nod, and he climbed into the ambulance after she was loaded in. He would have gone regardless, but it gave him a small amount of warmth to know that, through the silent communication, he would see them there, and they would rely on him to find out all he could.

This was how he needed it to be.

"Keep out of the way," one of the EMTs informed him, but there was sympathy in the other man's eyes, and understanding. He nodded and slid himself into a corner, watching as they hooked her up. The doors shut. The vehicle started, and then they were rattling down the dirt road.

At the hospital, he was not allowed to stay by her side. He climbed out of the ambulance after them, and went through the doors of the emergency room, but then she was through a second set of doors and he was told to stay back.

"I'm her partner," he informed the nurse, holding up his badge and all the while knowing it wasn't going to do any good. He'd been here before. He knew how this worked.

"Are you family?"

"No, but I'm her medical proxy. I need to know what's going on back there," he added, and he was sure the note of desperation earned him something from her, because she nodded slightly.

"I'll get you some paperwork to fill out. What is the patient's name who you came in with?"

"Temperance Brennan. Dr. Temperance Brennan."

The nurse nodded, and then pointed him towards a waiting room.

God, he hated waiting rooms more than he could probably ever express.

The first person he saw was not Angela, as he had been expecting. It wasn't even one of the team. It was Max, and he was sitting alone in a corner, arms crossed, staring straight ahead with a dark expression on his face. When Booth entered, he glanced over, clearly not expecting to see him.

"Booth!" he was on his feet in an instant, and stepping forward. "Angela called me; she said you found her? She's alive?" He nodded, but Max continued before he could actually form an answer. "How is she? Where did they take her?"

"Go ask," Booth said at once. "You're family. They'll tell you more than they'll tell me."

Brennan's father nodded, and Booth shadowed along behind him as he went up to the counter.

"I need to know what's going on with my daughter," Max said, rapping on the counter in a way that was probably considered rude.

The nurse didn't even glance up from the form she was filling out. "Name?" she asked.

"Temperance Brennan," he said, his fingers drumming on the countertop loudly. She glanced at him, then at his hand, and then turned to her computer.

"She was just brought in," the nurse said, looking up to meet his eyes. "We have no status as of yet."

Max flushed. "I need to know the minute there's… _anything_."

She nodded stiffly, and looked pointedly towards the chairs. "Have a seat," she said tiredly, directing them with the pen she held in her hand. And then she turned back to her paperwork.

The others came in not long afterwards, filing in and sitting after they had asked the expected questions and gotten the very limited answers that Booth and Max were able to provide.

The last time they had been in a waiting room, it was because they were waiting for a new life to join with theirs. It had been a tense sort of wait, but one filled with hope and excitement. This time… it was nothing like that. It was like that waiting room the day she'd been shot by Marcus, in that maze of a house where things had all gone to hell.

That time, he hadn't seen her until late that night. He had waited, silently panicking, next to James. And he had listened in relief when the surgeon had finally come out to inform them that she was stable and they could visit her soon.

He had left, then, and it was something he still regretted. Even though he had gone back that night, he had not done her justice. Because he had left without resolving anything. He had left when she had wanted him to stay. And he'd known that, when he'd done it. He'd known it, and he'd done it anyways.

This time, though, it was closer to waiting in that New Orleans hospital while they told him they couldn't disclose anything. He didn't know the extent of anything at this point; all he knew was that it was bad. The fear, of course, was just as powerful. But the situation… it pinned him so he couldn't hardly breathe. Each gasping lung-full of air only served to remind him that not long ago she had been struggling in that casket, her oxygen disappearing.

If DC was as disorganized as post-Katrina New Orleans, he'd be behind the scenes already, finding her for himself just as he had done that day so long ago.

But today was different, too, even from that. Because that day was over, and that day had involved amnesia and minor injuries. All of which she didn't remember that day, and as far as he knew, still didn't remember now.

This was not the same as the two other times that leapt to the forefront of his memory. What she had just been through… it wouldn't go away as quickly as those times. They all knew that.

Now, though, there was only the waiting.

More than anything, he just wanted to know. He wanted to know that she was going to be okay, he wanted to know that there wouldn't be any long-lasting injuries, and he wanted to know that she was… that she hadn't been violated in the worst of ways.

The very thought made him sick, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, trying to fight the urge to find a trash can or perhaps a bathroom where he could throw-up. He couldn't even bring himself to think the word. That, for sure, would be what propelled his churning gut to give up the fight.

Max was signing the forms that Booth had abandoned, and Booth glanced over when he realized Max's pen had stopped moving and he was staring. It was a document authorizing a rape kit to be performed while she was still out from the surgery, and Brennan's father was slowly turning darker shades of red.

Finally, as Booth was about to say something, he punched the pen to the signature line and scrawled his name, swallowing harshly and turning to the next page.

Booth was already gone, though.

He was hunting for a restroom.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The first thing she was aware of was the light. The star had dissipated at some point, leaving her in the warm darkness, waiting for something else. She knew that the awareness meant she wasn't dead, but she didn't know quite what that meant. Other people, people with faith that she did not possess, would be likely to believe they were heading towards the afterlife. She wasn't sure.

Things were clearer, now, though. She remembered herself. She remembered faces, and connections that she had formed. She recalled events, and she tried to stave away the images and the associations that came from the things that had transpired in these past few days.

Or had it been longer?

She did remember being unsure about a timeline, and she still felt that way. It was hard to gauge just how long it had been since that day in the airport, which was just a blurry outline in her head at this point anyways.

If someone were to question its reality, she wouldn't know what to say. She might have to question it as well, and wonder if she had ever even returned from New Hampshire at all. Perhaps she was still there. Perhaps that was where she had been.

But then, she had known them. Known her captors.

No, she was somewhere in DC, or at least close by to it. That was the only rational explanation.

Rationality.

She had missed it, now that she knew it had been gone. In this silence, in this darkness, she had found it once again as she contemplated the floating.

Now she was on solid ground again, though. She wasn't sure what type, but it was the light that was starting to bring that to the surface as well. It crept over her, washing in, lighting up her senses. She could see the actual illumination from behind her eyelids, even though they did not flicker, and she became aware of a soft touch against her skin, the brushing of cotton that wasn't as soft as it could be.

Her first thought was to realize she was no longer underground. No longer buried in that prison.

But then, where was she? Had they come back, as they had promised to do? They had told her they'd return in a few days, but she had known that to be a sick comment intent to leave her with the belief that they weren't coming to pull her out while she was still alive.

It was possible they had come back for her. Very possible.

And at that thought, she shied back into the darkness, even though her star was burning more brightly than ever, just hovering in front of her like she could reach out and touch it if she wished. She used to wish she could do that when she was a child. Just reach out and grab a handful of stars. And then she'd run inside and show her mother how brightly Delphinius shone when it was cupped in her tiny seven-year-old hands.

It faded. She climbed back into the darkness, but her thoughts stayed, even though they numbed. She was still there.

And now she could only wait to see when the light itself would return.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

They all stood at once, when the nurse came out and called Brennan's name. These were the moments he hated. They were moments that combined the hope and the fear and turned everything else into unrecognized turmoil. He never knew what to think in these moments. Never knew where his mind was supposed to go, and so it spun endlessly along with his gut as he tried to keep his faith alive, tried to convince himself that there was no way she could leave him. Not after all they'd been through, not after he had found her, alive.

He couldn't lose her. Not now.

There was a moment of silence, and it was probably much shorter than it felt to Booth.

"Ms. Brennan is in stable condition. We had to give her several transfusions, and she isn't awake currently, but her family may visit her now while we wait for her to regain consciousness."

"He's her boyfriend," Angela said, pointing instantly at Booth.

He opened his mouth, and then shut it again. It didn't matter if it wasn't true. So long as it got him into that room.

"Alright, but only one at a time. You must be her father?" she added, turning her attention to Max, who nodded. "Why don't you follow me?"

Booth watched, agonized, as Max followed the nurse away and through a set of doors. He swallowed harshly, his throat tight. She was alive. She was going to recover. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to really _feel_ the effects of those statements. Not until he saw her for himself.

"Thanks," he murmured to Angela, who just nodded wordlessly. The answer didn't need to be spoken. She understood how much he needed to be in there, and he understood that she wanted answers that he could provide.

They were all in this together.

Max didn't return for a long time, but when he did his eyes were reddened unabashedly. He stared Booth straight in the eyes and gave him the room number. There wasn't anything else he needed in that moment, and he was gone in an instant, everything and everyone else forgotten.

He found the room easily, and for a moment he longed for a twisting hallway and confusing numbering. Just so he could have those moments to focus on something else. Those moments to try and clear his head from the panic and fear and pain that was taking over.

Knowing what to expect did little to ease his reaction when he stepped through the door into the darkened room. Maybe the bandages were better than the bare wounds, but his breath rushed out the second his gaze landed on her.

She looked small, swallowed up in the white of the hospital bed. And she was pale, her skin and the bandages and the hospital gown blending into the sheets that she was swathed in. She was like a ghost there, and he felt his heart nearly stop beating before he managed to propel himself forward across the room and carefully slide a chair up by her side.

Hand shaking, he reached out and gently brushed his finger against her arm, tracing the back of it up her skin. She was cold. Colder than he would like, and he wanted desperately to wash warmth through her. Bring her back to where she belonged. Bring her back to who she used to be.

He wanted her back here. With him.

And right now… even with her physically in front of him, even with his skin in contact with hers, he knew they were a million miles apart. She wasn't here. Not in this moment. Maybe not for a long while. But he was going to stay right here until she came back in full. He wasn't leaving her side, no matter how long it took.

Slowly, his hand reached hers and he twined their fingers together, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He remembered that night, when he had come to a hospital room much like this one, expecting her to be asleep, and wound his fingers through hers. Just like this. And as he had gone to pull away, she had squeezed. She had alerted him to the fact that she was aware of him. That she was present, and she knew he was there with her.

Now, though, there was nothing. She was blank, and gaunt. Her beautiful face marred by scarring and bandages.

He was no fool. The healing process was going to take a long time, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

He would be there for that, too.

Even if she pushed him away, even if she tried to do this all on her own… he wasn't going anywhere. And the more he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest and took in each of the small signs of life that were emanating from her, the feeling only increased.

He breathed slowly, in and out. He grounded himself in the pulse that beat under her skin, thrumming softly against the pads of his fingers.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, or even if time had passed at all. But there was a light, now, and it wasn't the pinpoint that she had labeled as her own personal star. It was warmer. More spread out. It crept over her, and now she felt her eyelids actually flutter.

But they stayed shut as she became aware of other things. It was a bed she was on, she recognized. Not the mattress she had been bound on top of, but one that was covered in actual sheets. It was warm, too, in itself. The cold had gone away.

She was grateful.

There was a hand, too, clutching hers. Before her eyes even opened, she pulled away from the contact, her throat constricting as the fear hit. She found resistance as she struggled to shove away, to push herself against any wall she could find, and her vision did not clear even though her eyes were now wide open. She blinked frantically, and slowly made out that she was in a room.

A hospital room.

"Bones," a voice said, half-alarmed, half just plain shocked. She blinked again, finding his face. Her brows drew together. She stayed frozen where she was on the far side of the bed. It was the tubes, she realized, which had restricted her movement. There were tubes on her.

And bandages. A lot of bandages. Her blood rushed, her heart pounding frantically in her chest.

"Bones, it's me," he assured, "It's Booth… relax, no one's going to hurt you…"

She nodded slowly. He was the warmth she'd been trying to find. She remembered that. And then, relief shot through her system until she thought she couldn't bear any more. There was too much, all at once, and she was overflowing with it.

"Booth," she said, and her voice was scratchy. The single word felt strange from her throat. She hadn't spoken in so long, she realized. Hadn't tried to just… say something. The screaming… it didn't count.

She tried not to think about it.

"Yeah, it's me," he said carefully. "Do you know where you are?"

She looked around again, to confirm it for herself. She nodded. "Hospital."

He smiled tentatively, a sorrow behind his gaze that he was trying to hide. "Yeah, Bones. You… you're safe, now."

She nodded, but she didn't get a chance to speak. A doctor came bustling in, and greeted her softly, asking her questions that she didn't really want to answer. She stumbled to explain that she felt awake, that she was only in moderate pain, that yes she would like some ice chips or water.

Her thirst returned with a vengeance, then, and she was frustrated that she was only allowed limited amounts. She understood, of course, because she knew these things. Knew she had been water-deprived and she couldn't overload herself or she'd make herself more sick. But still, she wished for more water the moment it was taken away.

The doctor had introduced herself, but Brennan hadn't caught her name. She hadn't been paying attention. She was still looking at Booth, still turning to him even as the questions were aimed to pull her full attention. There were things she had wanted to say, but suddenly she couldn't.

Reality hadn't quite locked itself back into position just yet. This didn't feel real at all. It still felt like any minute she was going to find herself back in that coffin. Or back in that dark basement cell.

Booth was what she needed for gravity now, and she wanted desperately to talk to him. She needed to know so many things. How long had she been gone for? How had he found her? Where were Kevin and Joel?

The last one took prominence.

As soon as the doctor was gone, it was the first thing out of her mouth.

"Did you get them?" she asked hoarsely.

He frowned, and then realization washed over his features. "Yeah, we got them, Bones. We got both of them. Don't… don't worry about that. They are… never getting out. Never again."

She nodded, going back into her thoughts as she dropped her eyes to her lap. She twisted the sheets in her hands nervously, winding the ends around her fingers and finally closing her eyes as she tried to force out the images that kept coming back, unbidden.

He didn't say anything, but she could feel him watching her.

"How long?" she whispered at last, giving him a quick glance before biting her lip and looking down again. She dropped the sheets and winced. Her lip was sore, and she reached up tentatively to touch it. She found the cut there, and she hissed out a sharp breath.

The memories were worse than the pain. She wished it would all go away. Selfishly, she craved the darkness she had just come out of. It had been easier there.

"Four," he answered quietly. She could hear the pain in his voice. It hurt her, too.

She just nodded, though, processing that information.

Four days she had been gone. Four days.

"How did you find me?" she asked finally, posing the last of the questions that she was most desperate for an answer to.

"It wasn't easy," he said at last, hesitating. "We… we didn't know you were missing until two days ago."

She nodded slowly. "Booth?"

"Yeah?" he responded at once.

"What… what is today?"

She saw the breath rush out of him. "Monday," he said at last. "We… we found you yesterday."

"I went to the airport on Wednesday," she said, more to herself than to him as she did the mental math. She had _lost_ those four days, in a sense. But at the same time, she felt like had just gone back in time. By her instinctive clock, she had just spent roughly two weeks in hell. Not four days.

"We didn't know," he said, his voice breaking. "We… we didn't know, Bones."

She nodded again, feeling like she was doing that more than speaking. But it was easier, and she wasn't sure _what_ to say. She was at a loss. She could barely comprehend she was alive, let alone figure out how to talk to him about what had just transpired.

A thought, though, occurred to her.

"I texted you," she murmured. "I… you…"

"It wasn't me," he said darkly. "It wasn't me, Bones. I didn't get the message, I didn't send the response… I didn't even realize you were planning on coming back early. I didn't know anything was wrong until I spoke to Max."

She swallowed. "And then… you found me?"

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, the words shooting loose like they'd been dying to escape for an eternity. She opened her mouth, wondering why, but he was already continuing. "I… I couldn't find anything. I couldn't get to you soon enough, and I just… _Bones…_"

Now, she shook her head.

"You _found_ me," she said. Her voice was stronger now, more familiar, and she felt much more sure of herself. "You got me out of there… you saved my life. Again."

When he didn't acknowledge this, but stared downwards, apparently unable to meet her eyes, she said one last thing.

_"Thank you."_

He made a raw, choking sound from the back of his throat.

Despite the tubes, despite the bandages, despite _everything_, she slid herself across the bed, swallowing past the pain that came with movement.

And then she reached out for him, and he pulled her into his arms, moving himself forward so he was propped on her bed.

Neither of them felt like they could ever let go.

**You are all amazing, and I was so excited by the response to the last chapter. But that doesn't mean I don't want to hear about this one! I want to hear about this one just as much as I did the last one. So, please, leave me with your comments. Thank you all so much for reading this story. It's really been a huge part of my life these past months. I reread part of the beginning the other day to do some plot-checking, and I was amazed by how far this story has truly come, and how much time it has spanned across. It's so hard to remember a time when Brennan was married to that scum.**

**Oh, and by the way... if anyone wants to know a fun fact about my college life: one of my professor's names is James Turner. Yeah, my life is that weird. **


	32. Marching On

**A/N: Welcome back, everyone! Luckily I was ahead on this story, because I hit major writer's block in the middle of this past week while working on the chapter after this one. You'll be happy to know that I defeated it, and it's all smooth sailing again. We're almost at the end of this journey, and I'm so excited. When this is all finished, there's a good chance I'm going to print out this whole story and re-read it myself. Which isn't something I do very often. That being said, though, we aren't *quite* finished yet. There's still more to come. A lot more. It's just that I know where it's going now, and I'm ready for it to happen. (Which translates to 'prepare yourselves-angst ahead.')**

**Anyways, this chapter is named for a OneRepublic song, Marching On. I have recently fallen in love with them. They're all I listen to. I suggest checking this song out, as well as all of their other music. Enjoy the chapter!**_  
_

_Chapter 31:Marching On_

_For those doubts that swirl all around us,  
For those lives that tear at the seams,  
We know,  
We're not what we've seen,_

_For this dance we'll move with each other._  
_There ain't no other step than one foot,_  
_Right in front of the other._

_There's so many wars we fought,_  
_There's so many things we're not,_  
_But with what we have,_  
_I promise you that,_  
_We're marching on,_  
_(We're marching on)_  
_(We're marching on)._

_July 16__th__, 2018_

They put her out with the pain meds when she started to feel everything all at once, and she could no longer fake that she was fine with Booth sitting right by her side, wearing a concerned frown on his face. The medication kept away the dreams, for which she was grateful, but she also felt disoriented and drowsy when she finally came around again.

She narrowly avoided a repeat of the first time, remembering where she was before she could panic. This time it wasn't Booth by her side. It was her father. And the reaction from last time had been horrible enough with Booth. It would not have gone as well with her father. Booth would handle it, and probably blame himself. Max would… be Max. And she wasn't sure what that meant, because she didn't feel like thinking about it. But she knew that she was glad that Booth had been the one to witness her one and only panic attack in this hospital. It would not be happening again.

Her father's eyes were closed, and she sat up carefully, watching him closely before she settled against the pillows and took the opportunity to look around the room.

There were flowers, on the nightstand by her bed and sitting in the corner of the room. She smiled, a soft, sad sort of smile. She felt guilty that she hadn't seen any of them, yet. But sitting with Booth had been a challenge in itself. She hadn't even gotten to everything she needed to say or ask with him, and she still felt hesitant about getting to that point.

It was part of why she had agreed to the pain medication that would put her back to sleep. She needed more time before she saw the others.

And she needed to speak to her doctor, as well. She had only been awake with Booth around, and hadn't had the chance to look over her chart. She was desperate for information. For clinical, hard facts that she could reason with.

Staying in the present was a challenge she was having trouble facing, too.

One moment she would be talking or focusing on something… and the next she would be gone, caught up in something that was no longer happening, but that felt more real than the room around her.

_The mattress was sticky and hot beneath her sweaty flesh, and she shivered violently as she listened to the footsteps heading back up the stairs. A sob fought its way loose from her throat the moment the door had closed and sealed her in. _

_ The cuts across her arms burned like trails left in the wake of fires. The cigarette burns across her chest, just barely above her hemline, still felt like the red-hot tip was pressed into them. Each and every one ached with a force beyond anything she could comprehend. _

_ They had promised to have more fun next time. They had toyed with the whip before leaving._

_ She cried, her shame melting away as all she was able to comprehend was the rawness of _everything _around her. It was all too much._

_ In that instant… she truly wanted to die._

"Tempe? Sweetheart?" she flinched, her blurry gaze focusing. She blinked to clear away the moisture, and then found her father's face staring at her with obvious concern mingling with the joy.

She forced a smile.

"Hey, dad."

"You're awake," he stated obviously.

"Yes, I am. How long have you been here?"

"A few hours. How are you feeling?"

She ignored the question. "Where's Booth?"

"He'll be back soon, I'm sure. He went to go get some pudding and a coffee… something like that. Your friend Angela finally convinced him to leave. But he made me promise to tell you he'd be back in case you woke up."

"Where's Nick?" she asked next, pushing forward. Booth would be back; that was all she needed to know on the matter. The answer to this question, now, took full precedence.

Now, Max was quiet. Thoughtful, and she could see him struggling. Her heart beat faster, and the machine beside the bed reacted, echoing the noise. She flushed, angry at how easily her emotions, her fears, were displayed.

Max spoke quickly, then, though. Probably in reaction to the noise, and she was suddenly almost grateful for it.

"Nick is with Russ. Parker's there, too."

A flash of confusion cut into her, and she frowned.

"Russ?"

"He and I came to DC as soon as we heard you were missing."

She shook her head. That wasn't what she had meant by the question, and she had a feeling he knew it. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat and turning to look towards the door quickly. She couldn't help but look as well, but there was no sign of Booth, or any of the others.

A memory was coming back to her, now, and she felt a cold, icy feeling wash through her from head to toe. She swallowed sharply, fighting the panic, and then spoke as calmly as she could, batting against the waves that were threatening to push her under.

"James is dead," she said softly. It wasn't a question, and she simply waited for the confirmation that she _knew_ was going to come.

Her father nodded, and she turned away, looking up towards the ceiling and steadying her breathing.

"They killed him?"

The _they_ needed no clarification.

"Yeah, they did."

But there was something more there. Some hesitation that meant he wasn't saying everything. He was holding something back, and she wanted to know what it was. But then a doctor slid open the door a crack to peer in, and Max stood up.

He held back, standing by her bedside as if he was almost expecting her to say something. Maybe he thought she'd request that he stay with her. But that wasn't going to happen, because she wanted all the details, and she wanted to be in charge of them. She wanted to know, and to have the ability to decide who else got to know.

She had been there, of course. But she was unsure of just how bad things were. She didn't know what to expect during recovery, or even which injuries were the most damaging.

Max left slowly, but finally he was gone and the door was shut, and she was alone with the doctor.

"Dr. Emily Hanover," she said, stepping forward and reaching a hand out to shake hers. "Do you prefer Dr. Brennan, or Temperance?"

"Temperance will be fine," she said decidedly with a quick nod. Dr. Hanover smiled and made a note on the clipboard she held loosely.

"I'm assuming you have questions for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she responded, surprised. Most doctors immediately skipped ahead and started explaining things practically and gently.

"I was here for your last visit," Dr. Hanover explained with a soft chuckle.

"Oh." It was a bad thing, she was fairly certain, when you gained a reputation at a hospital. It was obvious she had been here too many times.

The doctor picked up her chart and flipped through it. "Would you like a general rundown?" she asked, but Brennan was already reaching forward. Dr. Hanover gladly passed her the chart, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Brennan assumed she didn't often get patients who understood the medical terms well enough to interpret their own diagnosis.

She had lost a great deal of blood. That was one of the first things that she noticed, and it didn't surprise her in the least. She was also dehydrated and malnourished—also not a surprise. The rest of the injuries would heal, although the cut on her thigh had received stitches and it was likely she'd have a scar. There was also the chance that a few of the marks on her face would not heal completely. She shivered slightly to herself at the thought of the reminders. Of the thought that even now, they still had the power to torment her.

She flipped to another page, and read through the information. But she did not find what it was she was looking for specifically, and she swallowed as she passed back the chart, rolling her tongue over the tops of her teeth and considering her words.

She was not normally one to struggle with blunt questions.

"A rape kit should have been performed," she stated. Her voice was not nearly as strong as she had been hoping. It sounded almost… broken. She winced away from it, looking down as she played with the edges of the sheets again. Finding any distraction she could.

"Yes, we ran one after your initial evaluations were complete. Your father signed off on the agreement forms while you were unavailable to make your own decision." She nodded, and tried not to think about Max reading through those forms and taking in the possibilities. And then she tried to believe that Booth hadn't been right there, reading them over his shoulder. It didn't work, and she fought down the panic that was starting to bubble up inside of her again.

"Have the results been verified yet?" she asked quietly.

"All negative," Dr. Hanover told her gently, smiling a reassuring sort of smile.

She didn't think it was possible to feel any more emotion, but the relief moved in quickly and put itself to war with the fear, which did not dissipate despite her gratitude for the welcome news.

"Thank you," she said calmly, running her tongue over her lips and clearing her throat. She could handle the aftermath of this; she was sure of it. She would heal, and she would be fine. She would have her friends with her, to help her through this.

And she would have Nick.

Nick. Who had just lost his father.

A wave of nausea hit her, and Dr. Hanover looked at her with concern, turning to pick up the plastic trash can that sat just to the side of the nightstand. But Brennan waved her off with an _"_I'm fine,"and she set it back down, not looking convinced in the least.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked at last.

Brennan considered, and then shook her head. "No. But I would like to know when I will likely be released."

"Of course. Because most of your injuries weren't serious, we'll only keep you here for one or two more days, to ensure that you are back up to speed and that there aren't any other repercussions that haven't shown their symptoms yet."

"Thank you."

"Now, I know you probably don't want to talk about it… but I also know you are aware that the mental aspect of your captivity is likely going to take longer to heal than the physical one."

She pursed her lips, but offered a nod. There really was no denying it, because she knew it was true. Knew from experience, in fact. And she knew that this time… this time it was going to be harder than ever before. She just wished she didn't have to face it.

"I can give you the information for a few support groups, so you can consider. And it seems to me that you have a very supportive network of friends and family."

"I do," she agreed softly, allowing a smile to tilt up a corner of her lips.

"Alright. I just want you to be aware of the options that you have. Would you like company, now?"

"In a few minutes," she decided.

Dr. Hanover didn't question it, she just smiled and nodded. "Very well. I'll tell them they can come in around ten minutes from now?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Dr. Hanover nodded again, and then turned to leave.

Once she was alone, she almost didn't know what to do with herself. The silence was welcome, and she closed her eyes and just relaxed into it. For the first time in a long time, the quiet, the simple fact that she was alone, did not immediately invite fear. It was there, on the borders, but for the moment she just let herself breathe in and out, reminding herself over and over that she was safe. She had been rescued, and it was all going to be okay now. No one was going to hurt her anymore.

She did a quick evaluation of her herself in the absence of observers, tracing her fingers over bandages and recalling the injuries under them. Wondering what they must look like. What sort of scar they might leave her with. She peered under the hospital gown, taking in the bandages that covered her there as well. The raw bruises across her abdomen and the minor cuts that lined her chest.

A mirror might have helped, but she decided that she wasn't going to face that possibility just yet. She would wait, and she would live with whatever she saw when the opportunity presented itself. Mostly, though… she just didn't want to see the damage. Didn't want to see what they had done to her.

Next, her hands reached up to touch the damaged tendrils of her hair. Or, what remained of her hair. Oddly enough, it was that which hit her the deepest, sending a pang of anger and humiliation from her gut straight through her system. Her heart clenched as she let her dark, matted locks fall again. Her shoulders still burned, although while she had been unconscious some of the muscles had managed to loosen and readjust. They burned when she tried to lift her hands over her head, or too far in any direction, but they were only slightly uncomfortable when they simply rested by her sides.

She hated that, too. Hated how it felt better to have her arms behind her body now, because that was how she had been bound for so long. She hated everything about what had been done to her. And she hated the men who had done it, more than she had hated anyone else she had ever encountered. More than the Gravedigger. More than Epps.

And almost even with the worst of her foster parents.

There was a soft knock on her door, and she glanced up in surprise. Had it been ten minutes already? She hadn't even noticed, but the clock told her that the time had indeed passed. More than passed, in fact.

"Come in," she called, spreading her hands palm down on the sheets in front of her, smoothing them down over her body and dissipating the wrinkles.

It was not Booth who opened the door, as she had been expecting. Angela peered first around the door, and then stepped all the way in and closed it softly behind herself, offering a tentative smile as she stepped across and claimed the empty seat that faced Brennan's bedside.

"Hey, sweetie," she said gently, twisting her hands together nervously. She looked like she was about to cry, and there was evidence that she had already been doing so, earlier. Brennan's heart panged in her chest, and she hated the pain that not only she had faced, but that her closest friends had been forced to suffer through as well.

It wasn't fair.

"Hey, Ange."

"How… how are you feeling?"

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. "I'm feeling much better," she forced out.

Angela hesitated, shifting in the chair. And then she slid forward and Brennan gladly leaned towards her, wrapping her arms around her friend's shaking shoulders. "I love you," Angela choked as she held her gingerly. Brennan was the one who clutched with a fierceness, not caring about the agony that shot through her shoulders. This soothed it. This made the ache in her chest fade, and that was the most important thing.

"I love you, too," she murmured back softly.

Angela pulled back, and wiped at her eyes. "God… Bren. I'm so glad you're okay…"

She smiled through her own tears, a small laugh escaping to fight against the sobs that wanted to rise up. "I am too. And… it's really good to be back. Thank you. Thank you for… for finding me. I know it was all of you… all of you together."

Angela was nodding before she was even finished speaking.

"Of course. Of _course_. Just… _God_, don't _ever_ do this to us again…"

"I promise," Brennan said, smiling again before she reached up to wipe at her own eyes. The moisture was cold on the back of her hand, but she could still feel the warm trails where they had travelled down her cheeks.

"The others… they all want to see you, too. We brought flowers," she added, gesturing towards the corner of the room.

Brennan laughed. "Yes, I noticed," she responded, reaching for a tissue to blow her nose.

Angela grabbed one as well, and Brennan got the feeling that they were both still on the verge of losing themselves. One comment would be all it took to send them over the edge. She ground her teeth together and tried to get herself back on track.

"Maybe everyone can come in, after. I would… like to thank everyone in person."

"Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea. We can smuggle in some real food, too."

"I would appreciate that very much," she said with a chuckle.

"Nick's been asking about you," she added cautiously, watching her closely for a reaction.

Immediately, Brennan's eyes widened. "He has? How much… how much does he know?"

Angela shook her head. "Nothing… we didn't know what to tell him, or even what would be true. I mean… we didn't know where you were. We didn't know… we just didn't know."

She swallowed sharply, nodding and dipping her head down to stare once more at the smooth sheets that covered her. She ran her hands along the cool fabric, feeling the ridges of the threads beneath her fingers. No, they hadn't known. Because these past few days, there had been every possibility that she was already dead, and they simply weren't aware of it yet. So of course they hadn't known what to tell Nick. They could hardly explain his mother was missing, because then he'd ask more questions. Questions they didn't have the answers to—like when she was coming back, for instance.

Or if she was coming back at all.

"I'll need to see him. Soon," she said firmly. _And tell him what? _she thought with a fresh panic weaving its way under her skin, increasing the frantic rate of her heart. The monitor mimicked, and she winced.

How was she supposed to explain her injuries to him? How was she supposed to answer when he asked her where his father was? He would need to know at some point; they couldn't keep it from him forever. But it was the getting there that was the problem. She pushed away the thought—it was too hard to consider, especially when she still didn't know how she even felt about James death herself.

There was a sort of sadness there, when she thought of it. Thought of what they had possessed before, together, and how it had ended. And then when she thought of him being gone, of never seeing him again, she almost felt sick with the sort of relief that hit her. She had wished for that, hadn't she? To never see him again, after what he had done to her in the wake of the divorce?

And what else was there? She knew better than to believe anything that Kevin and Joel had told her during her captivity, but somehow… she wondered how much of it was true. Because they had taunted her with the lies, but at the same time had been very true with the pain they inflicted. It would not be beyond them to have orchestrated some of the things they had told her.

They had implicated that James had known something. That he had gotten the opportunity to tell it to Booth, but he had kept his mouth shut. And then they had killed him.

So what was it that he had been privy to? What information had he possessed? Had it been something that might have been able to save her? And how had he known it?

"What do you know about James' death?" she asked her friend softly, and Angela glanced up in surprise. She, too, had gotten lost in her thoughts during the silence. Brennan wondered what it was she had been thinking of, but it was gone now as the new question took over. The artist frowned.

"Not much," she replied. "I mean… we were pretty focused on finding you. We got what we could out of what happened, to try to connect it with your disappearance."

"And how did you do that?" she asked quickly, sitting up straighter and meeting Angela's eyes seriously. This was what she had been wanting to know for some time now, ever since she had first awakened. The actual details that had led up to her ultimate rescue from that casket.

Angela swallowed sharply. It looked like she knew something she didn't want to say. Booth had gotten that look on his face, too, she remembered. She hated it. It meant they were trying to work around telling her the truth. Trying to hide something from her—something important.

"Ange?" she queried persistently.

"We made the connection that they had known the other victim."

Brennan's breath rushed out. Something nagged at her, something that said there was more, that this was the lesser of two evils, but she was already on this track, and she needed to follow it until the end. She would find out the rest later, no matter what it took.

"What was her name?" she demanded.

_The mattress against the wall was stained. The blood, the fluid, the water marks… they were all a pattern that she would be following. Her mattress already looked like this. And eventually, she knew hers would be beside it on that wall. It was a trophy for them. A reminder of the enjoyment they gained from her suffering._

_ And whenever they came down to her, they looked at it. Sometimes they smiled, sometimes they lingered. They were remembering. Remembering someone else who had been in her position. Some other poor woman who had not gotten out of here. Who had suffered just as she suffered now._

"Veronica Wheeler," Angela murmured.

Brennan nodded slowly, knowing that she would be looking her up later, regardless of what it would likely bring up inside of her. She needed to know, because—well, she couldn't quite describe it. She just needed to know more. There was a connection that she needed to fix, deep inside of herself, and this was the only way she could think to do it. If anyone were to ask, though, she would never tell them. It sounded too much like psychology, and she hated the idea, even in her head.

But she didn't have control over it, and that was something she accepted without much effort. Sometimes, things just needed to be done. For no real reason.

"They… talked about her. While I was down there."

Angela went an odd shade of pale, stiffening as her eyes widened. "Bren…"

She shook her head, pushing away any concern. She had been stating a fact, something that she had just… needed to say. Out loud.

They were silent for a long time, then, but Brennan could feel Angela's eyes on her even as she let her own gaze stray around the room and out the window.

"Sweetie…" Angela whispered at last, "What did they… what did they do to you?"

And then, it was like she just _knew_. Without any explanation, she _knew_.

"You saw it," she said, shifting on the bed. "You… you found my… you found where they kept me."

Angela trembled slightly, and then nodded, biting hard into her lip to fight back the tears. Or the revulsion; Brennan couldn't tell which.

"I'm okay," she said firmly, meeting her friend's eyes seriously. "Angela, I'm okay."

Angela shook her head, but she couldn't seem to force any words out.

"I'll heal," Brennan tried next. "I don't have any long-term injuries."

There was more silence, as Angela struggled. Brennan looked away, feeling the lump rising in her throat once more. This time, it was longer before either of them spoke. Several minutes ticked by, and then Angela opened her mouth and Brennan turned towards her, waiting.

"Did they… God, sweetie, I just… I don't…" she was biting back the tears and failing. One of them trickled down her cheek and she swiped at it. Her lower lip was whitened by the force of her teeth piercing into it.

"No," she said quietly. She knew what the question was. "The answer is no, Angela."

"Thank _God_," Angela choked, the words bursting loose at once. Shaking her head. Brennan reached out, and Angela squeezed her hand tightly in her own, taking a few steadying breaths before she released the contact. "Thank God," she repeated softly, brushing her hair out of her face. And then, "Are you… are you sure you're really okay, though?"

She considered the question. "…I will be," she decided, nodding to herself. "I will be."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth stood when Angela appeared from around the corner, rejoining them in the waiting room.

She wasn't sure what to tell him, but she could see the worry in his eyes, and he held two pudding cups in his hands awkwardly, clutching at the plastic spoons.

"How is she?" he practically demanded, and she placed a hand on his upper arm soothingly.

"She's fine, Booth. Tired, and probably still in moderate pain, yes… but she's doing good."

He nodded, not looking at all relaxed by the news. He glanced over her shoulder and up the hallway as if he could catch a glimpse of her through the several walls that separated them.

"Just go," she told him. "She'll be happy to see you. I know Max said she was expecting you when she woke up, not him."

He nodded, and then hesitated for only a moment more, looking around at the others who sat in the waiting room, nursing their coffee cups. And then he strode purposefully away and disappeared up the hall.

Angela sighed to herself, and settled into a spot next to her husband. Jack reached over and twined his fingers through hers, offering a reassuring smile. They'd been here for hours, now. But none of them were complaining. They took turns getting food, and they spoke quietly, keeping themselves distracted with topics that didn't relate to their current situation. Cam had been telling them all about Michelle's new promotion, and Angela had brought up possibilities for the twins' approaching birthday.

they were nearly six, now, after all. A thought that made her start to wonder where all the time was going. It wouldn't be long before Nick was five, too.

Booth was gone for only about ten minutes before he came back in, peering around the corner and gesturing for them to all get up. Angela sighed in relief, pushing herself to her feet and stretching. Clearly Brennan had decided she was up for a group meeting, and Angela felt like it was a step forward. A good one.

She clutched Hodgins' hand in hers, leaning into his shoulder and smiling softly as she turned her head towards him. He leaned forward to kiss her quickly, and then they stepped forward, following Booth back up the hallway. The others came behind, murmuring softly to each other. For the most part, though, they were quiet. Silent with the anticipation, because only a few of them had been in to see her so far.

There was noticeable surprise and alarm from the group as they stepped into the room one by one, but they quickly schooled their expressions, greeting Brennan warmly as they gathered around, finding chairs or spots on the wall to lean against.

She smiled tightly, meeting each of their eyes one by one. Angela could see that she had noticed the pity and the shock, and that it had hit her hard. But she, too, was putting on a brave front. She gladly accepted the tentative hug that Parker offered, and then everyone tried to speak at once.

Booth, who had claimed the seat directly by her bedside, was the one to speak up above them all to try and make order of things.

"We should get some food. Real food."

Sweets raised a hand. "That will be me," he offered, laughing slightly as he stepped forward to give Brennan an awkward one armed hug. He murmured something to her, and she smiled and nodded gratefully. He saluted the group, disappearing back out the door, and they all moved their positions, spacing themselves out in the new room and crowding closer. Angela placed a hand on the bed post at the end of the bed, trying to ignore the thick papers on the chart that hung only a foot or two from her arm.

They catalogued all of her friend's injuries, all the pain she'd been put through. As inconspicuously as possible, she shifted away from it, moving to stand closer to Parker's side on the opposite side of the bed from Booth.

"How long are they keeping you here, Dr. B?" Hodgins queried in the new silence.

"Just a few more days," she reassured. They want to make sure there's nothing they've missed, and that I'm on the right track for proper healing."

"But you're not coming back to the lab," Cam clarified, giving her a pointed look.

Brennan looked like she wanted to protest, but Booth placed a hand gently on her arm, and her mouth snapped shut. She pursed her lips, but said nothing.

Angela watched with interest, and found herself thinking, with a sense of wonder and curiosity, that something had changed in these past ten minutes.

And she desperately wished she knew what it was.

**Let me know what you're thinking! **

**As a side note, my fellow Castle fans may be interested to know that I'm in the planning stages of a short pre-premiere fic for that fandom. Have no fear, it won't detract from my attention to this story, but it's going to drive me crazy until I get it written down. We'll see what happens :)**


	33. All This Time

**A/N: Happy Tuesday everyone! College life has been hectic, but I_'_m making a lot of progress and meeting a lot of new people. Most of them don't understand my obsession with Bones. They are somewhat astounded when I tell them this story is 185,000 words. (Crazy, right?) As this story comes to a close, I find it harder to work on. I think a part of me wants it to never end, while the other part desperately wants it to be completed once and for all. No matter what, though, there are really only a few updates remaining in this journey. **

**Thanks for sticking with me, and this story, for so long. This chapter is named for All This Time, a OneRepublic song. I've been waiting for the chance to use it, and I think it is fitting for this chapter, as well as this story as a whole. _  
_**

_Chapter 32: All This Time_

_All this time we were waiting for each other  
All this time I was waiting for you  
Got all these words, can't waste them on another  
So I'm straight in a straight line running back to you, yeah_

_Oh, running back to you_  
_Oh, running back to you_  
_Yeah_

_Oh, I would travel so far_  
_I would travel so far_  
_To get back where you are_

_July 16__th__, 2018 _

When Booth stepped back into the room, Brennan felt a relief she had not been anticipating course through her. She smiled cautiously, tilting her head to the side as she watched his approach. He settled into his expected seat, scooting himself closer and setting his arms on the edge of her mattress.

He grinned, and it was a sort of hopeless _what now? _kind of smile. The kind that made her concerns melt, because she knew he was right there with her, in the same boat, and he wasn't planning on going anywhere unless it was with her.

After speaking with Angela, she had felt drained. Seeing someone else should have brought about the expected dread and panic that would come with social interaction in her situation. But instead, she only felt the warmth that came with his presence. It was something only he could do, and she wouldn't have given it up for all the world.

Which was, in part, the reason behind her next action.

Her hand slid away from where it had been lying loosely across her abdomen, and found his. He started slightly at the contact, but then a contented smile spread across his face and he gave her a look close to wonder as he turned his hand over so he could twine her fingers through his.

They both stared down at the connection for a long moment, and even when their eyes flitted up, their hands stayed joined.

There was so much that they needed to talk about, so much they needed to figure out. But at the moment, words didn't seem like enough. She wanted to just get lost in him. She wanted it to just be him, from now on, beside her. Wanted it with a passion unlike anything she had desired before in her life.

She needed him, and nothing was ever going to be able to change that. Rationality and logic be damned.

Brennan had no idea how she was supposed to explain that to him. She had no idea what he would even say to it, because before she had left… she hadn't been sure where things were going. They were going someplace positive, she knew that. And when she'd been gone, she'd done a lot of thinking about it. She'd been prepared to come back and change things. Prepared to admit her feelings so that they could move forward at last.

It was what they both wanted, wasn't it?

They had slept together, after all. They had made love, at long last, and all at once she had wanted to spend a thousand more nights with him just like that, and never be alone again.

Had she not been taken captive, it was likely she would have thrown her arms around Booth and kissed him senseless the moment she had seen him in that airport. Like some heartwarming scene from the end of a romantic comedy, only so much better.

There were so many things that had been taken from her, in these past few days. Her freedom, her joy, her humanity… and now that she had some of them back, she was more than determined to reclaim the rest as well.

A part of that was not letting her captors take away the most important thing in her life. She wasn't going to let them ruin something that had gotten so many false starts already. She was going to do what she had to do, regardless of what it meant. Regardless of the circumstances.

As far as she was concerned, these past few days had not occurred. In this moment, with Booth's hand in hers, it seemed so beautifully simple. So easy, it was almost laughable.

"I love you," she said, breaking the silence. The words did not surprise her as much as she had thought they might. She didn't say them often, after all, but somehow… this time, saying them, it seemed natural. Like it was meant to be this way.

And for the first time in her life, she wasn't wondering. There was no secret panic buried inside of her over what he might think of that. She wasn't afraid that he wouldn't feel the same way. Because she knew, as surely as she knew of her own feelings, that Booth loved her, too.

She knew it, and it warmed her inside with a dull ache. Not a painful ache… just an ache. One that needed to be filled, one that yearned for the closeness that she had never had, from any of her relationships. She wanted their partnership back the way it was. She wanted their friendship, and their quiet jokes, their long conversations in the Diner. Most of all, though, she wanted the last part. The part that would complete everything. She wanted them to be everything, not just most of everything.

He was silent, but a smile of pure disbelief spread across his face, and he laughed. Not the sort of laugh to make her recoil, or reconsider her beliefs, but the kind of laugh that made her laugh, too. Because he was happy, and shocked, and reveling.

And so was she.

His hand squeezed hers, and then he leaned in, tentatively, and she turned her face to join with his as their lips connected in a slow, tender kiss. He was gentle with her swollen lip, his movements cautious and his lips curious rather than demanding.

When he pulled back a few inches, her eyelids slid open and she met his gaze. His eyes were smoldering, his natural warmth dancing in them. They were like perfect pools of chocolate. His slid shut again, and he moved forward again, but this time to nuzzle his nose into her hair just above her ear. His breath tickled her delicate skin for a moment, and then he whispered, _"I love you, Bones."_

The warmth washed over her, and a shiver coursed down her spine as it spread.

She was the one to reinitiate their kiss, hungrily claiming his lips with her own, disregarding the slight twinges of pain. They were unimportant, and barely noticeable under the waves of pleasure that coursed through every nerve-ending in her body.

When they finally separated, though, she felt a sharp stab of pain as a darkness crossed his features for a moment. It was a reminder of where they were, and why they were here. She knew there was a long road ahead. One she'd followed before, but one that was going to be different this time nonetheless. She also knew that she needed to be careful—that she needed to not push for too much too fast from herself or from Booth. Medicating on love was not necessarily a good idea one hundred percent of the time. It soothed the ache, and it made it easier to forget what she had just been through… but she could not hide from it forever.

And the start of that was going to have to involve not hiding from all her friends.

It was odd, how easy it had been to get started. How simple it had been to say the words. Because now, there was a challenge. A question of _what do we do now?_ Neither of them brought up the idea of a relationship. Neither of them discussed the future. They sat again, closer than before, but still in the silence.

Their hands wound together.

And she knew she should say something, soon, about inviting the others in to visit. But she held on, for a few more minutes, to the silence. There was a peace there, within it, that she wasn't sure she'd get back if she were to let it shatter now. She clung, and she squeezed Booth's hand and smiled at him, feeling a shyness she was not entirely familiar with.

She didn't know what they were. She had no clue where they were going. But she had wanted them to be together, no matter what that definition led them to. And right now… they were together.

Whatever the hell that meant, for better or worse.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was late when the nurse finally came by and insisted that everyone leave so Brennan could get some rest. Booth hovered by her bed while the others moved towards the door, calling their farewells and best wishes over their shoulders as they went.

Angela was the last one out, and she hesitated in the doorway, casting Booth a look that Brennan didn't quite know how to read before she, too, disappeared. The door clicked shut softly, and the nurse bundled around, checking her tubes and the monitors and sweeping crumbs off of the nightstand, giving the empty takeout containers an alarmed glare.

She headed towards the door, a pointed look aimed strictly at Booth, but he didn't budge.

"You're not family," she said stiffly.

He shrugged, grinning, and the nurse huffed an irritated sigh before shaking her head and leaving the room.

"We should… talk," he suggested lowly, dropping heavily back into his chair.

She breathed out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and tilting her head up towards the ceiling. And then she nodded significantly, and turned to face him again, her lips tight and her eyes dark with preparation for what was to come.

He seemed to be waiting for her to go first, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts. To figure out exactly what it was she needed to say to him. Some of this was going to be easy, and some of it was going to be difficult. And she needed to start with the difficult, no matter how much she wanted to forget it existed and just move on.

"I want a relationship with you," she began.

He nodded slowly, reading the ending that she had left off of that statement. It hung in the air between them. "But?" he said softly.

"But," she agreed heavily, "…I'm not sure what that means."

"Because of… what just happened?"

She shook her head, "Because of a lot of things. Our history. My marriage and divorce. The children we have with other people. And… yes, also because of what just happened to us."

He nodded, his brow furrowed as he dipped his head so his forehead rested on his thumbs, his fingers woven together.

"So… what are we going to do, Bones?"

She was at a loss for words, opening her mouth and then snapping it shut again. What was she supposed to say to that? She had no clue; she was hoping he was the one who would provide the solution. He was the one who had more experience with relationships than she did. Or, at least, she remembered thinking so, at some point.

In all honesty… it didn't seem like either of them was very skilled in that field. Or maybe it was just that they had been trying too hard, and that they had been fighting the inevitable all these years. Maybe that was why things never worked out. Not with other people, at least.

Because this was going to work. For the first time in her life, it was an uncertainty she was positive about. This was going to work. This was how it was supposed to be.

She shook her head, and he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"We're both… deep into stuff here. And yeah, you're right, we have a lot of history. So… maybe we should start off slow. How about we… grab dinner together? Something simple, after you get out of here. And we can just… build off of that."

She smiled in relief. "Yes… that sounds like a good plan."

He laughed softly, reaching forward to find her hand again. She looked down, watching as he traced his thumb over her skin. The motion was gentle, and she smiled contentedly.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_The floor was cool, as she fell from the mattress onto it. Cold, really, it's bite digging into her already chilled skin. But at the same time, it felt good. It numbed the bruises, the cuts, the burns. She did not attempt to move, simply laid her cheek against the cement and closed her eyes. _

_ Footsteps were approaching again, and she knew they had never left at all. They had simply dissipated into the shadows for a moment, waiting and watching. Observing her every move. Remembering each ounce of her agony with a stab of pride straight to their icy souls._

_ She trembled._

Angela stepped back into the room, a coffee cup steaming in her hand. Her back was to Brennan for a moment, as she turned to shut the door behind her, and Brennan claimed that moment to compose her features, planting a calm smile on her face and smoothing her hair back from her face.

It had been cut, recently, so that it no longer hung in ugly strands. Still, while the short length was less of a reminder than the choppy look she had been living with in captivity, it didn't do much to keep the thoughts away. She remembered he scissors. She remembered the fear.

She remembered everything, and she had no control over when the memories would assault her. So far, she'd managed to keep them under control when she was surrounded by her friends. But even then, it was hard. And it only got worse when she found herself blindingly alone, with nothing but the past few days lingering in the corners of her mind. Even thoughts of Booth, and how things were apparently going the right way at long last between them, couldn't stave off these moments.

And she found herself afraid to admit that to him, because he would feel as helpless as she did. He would be trapped, forced to watch her and wonder what she was remembering. And she didn't want that. She didn't want him even thinking about it, and she certainly didn't want his thoughts about her to be clouded by pity and fear.

She wanted everything to be normal. Even when she knew it could not be. Not for a long while, at least.

It was hard, to hide it from him. To hide it from all of them. But there wasn't much she could do about it, because she couldn't speak the words. Couldn't bring that hurt down upon them when there was already so much hurt going around. They were surrounded in it, like a fog that refused to lift. No matter the happiness they sought, it was always lurking on the borders. Leaking in and consuming.

"Hey, sweetie," Angela said softly, setting her bag on the floor and dropping lightly into the chair.

"Hi," Brennan responded easily, tilting her head to the side.

_The walls were closing in, from all sides. The star was fading, and she remembered that she wanted to keep it. That she didn't want to let it fade away. It was all she had left._

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, shrugging and forcing the smile to stay planted firmly on her face. Angela didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue the point. She just nodded slowly, giving Brennan a curious look, before she resumed her interest in the coffee that she still had clutched in her hand.

"So… tomorrow you get out of here."

"Yes," she answered shortly, pursing her lips. Angela had more to say; she could see it on her face.

"…Where are you going to go?" her friend questioned tentatively.

She swallowed. "Back to my house, probably. It's where… Nick knows best. And it's all I have at the moment, seeing as I never found a place for myself. And… well. There's no one there now."

Angela's brow furrowed with concern, but she nodded. "Yeah. I… I know. Have you thought about how you're going to… explain that?"

Brennan glanced down, picking at a loose thread on the sheets that covered her. "I've asked my dad to bring Nick to me, later today. I'm not going to explain everything just yet… but I thought it would be good to start by explaining my injuries and the whole… hospital thing. All he needs to know is that there was an accident," she added swiftly, glancing up to capture Angela's eyes. "That's… all that I ever want him to find out about this."

"Of course," Angela responded at once, nodding her head quickly. "Nick, though… he'll just be really happy to see you. No matter what the circumstances are."

_A blade traced up her thigh, and she felt the warmth of her own blood seeping out as she ground her teeth together, fighting the urge to shriek with the agony._

She nodded. "I find that… I can't wait to see him either," she said.

The smile formed itself on her face once more. She kept it there.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Nick's tiny legs swung back and forth under the chair, which was too tall for his feet to be able to touch the ground. The untied ends of his shoelaces clicked against the tile floor. Aglets, they were called. She had taught him that, not long ago. Told him that it was something she guaranteed no one else his age would know. He'd been so excited by that idea, and she had half expected him to keep it to himself just for that reason. But only a few days later young Taylor Sweets had proclaimed that aglets were the coolest things ever.

And for some reason she couldn't quite identify, she had felt a wave of pride when she looked at her son, knowing he had preferred to share than keep the power of knowledge to himself. Even if it was something so small as a simple word… it held a strength in it. And he had made a choice, all on his own, without any coaxing.

So yes, she had been proud.

Seeing him now, washed away everything else. She had been worried that it would be difficult. That the first thing he would do would be to ask where his father was. But instead, he had run into the room ahead of his grandfather, a huge smile on his face only slightly shadowed by his alarmed reaction upon first setting eyes on her. But being four years old, he only understood things in limited quantity. And what he had gotten after only a few minutes was that his mother was thrilled to see him, that she was okay—even though the bandages and the hospital in general suggested otherwise—and that there was nothing for him to be concerned about.

Except maybe whether or not they were going to go to the Diner for fries and a milkshake at any point in the near future.

He had climbed onto the chair with little difficulty, his scrawny limbs flailing only slightly before he settled himself easily into place and leaned forward. Max had stayed just long enough to push him up closer to the bed, and then he had kissed her on the forehead, mussed up Nick's floppy hair, and strolled out of the room to give them time to themselves.

_"You got a haircut," _was the first thing he had said to her. Of course that was what he would notice; he had a knack for those sort of things. The things that weren't the most important, but still meant something. She had always loved how he could pick up on things like that, back when things had been more… normal. She would come home from work after a long day, and he would say he liked the new shirt she was wearing.

Which was much more adorable out of his mouth than out of anyone else's.

"When do we get to go home?" he asked, glancing up at her, eyes wide and curious. His legs still kicked with regular rhythm beneath him, his tennis shoes looking large and cumbersome in comparison to his tiny ankles.

"Soon," she promised.

All that she had told him so far was that she had gotten hurt in an accident, but that it was all okay, and she would heal just fine. He had asked if it was like the time Garrett fell of his tricycle and broke his arm, and she had said that it was similar. That she might not be able to start doing certain things again for a while, because of how she had gotten hurt.

He had stared at the bandages for a long while after that, and she hadn't known what to say. How was she supposed to explain? She was still just desperately hoping he wouldn't ask _what kind of accident?_ as she knew he was likely to do.

But four year olds were also incredibly perceptive. Nick in particular. And he could tell there was something that he wasn't supposed to say here, something that she didn't _want_ him to say. So he had gone quiet and switched to focusing on his legs.

Now, all she wanted to do was promise him everything his little heart desired for when they got home. Ice cream, pizza… she'd give him the moon if it would make him happy. If it would keep him from wondering, from worrying, about what all this meant. About what had happened to his mother.

She'd be happy if he never found out. If all he ever knew of this was a blurry memory about a hospital visit and a few days he'd spent sleeping on a couch in the Jeffersonian. If she was lucky, he wouldn't remember any of it at all. If she was lucky… she'd never have to face any of the questions that she could imagine him asking.

But she was not a lucky person, and she knew she would have to prepare herself for the day those questions hit her. But for now… she would stay optimistic. Because right now, the best thing she could do was be there for her son, and be strong for everyone else. She was going to get through this. She was going to get _over_ this.

And the sooner that happened, the easier it was all going to be. Especially when she figured out where Booth fit into all of this. And how she was _ever_ going to explain _that_ to her son.

Not only that, but she also needed to figure out their housing arrangement. It was easy, sure, to just settle back into her old home. She had been living there for seven years, after all. She was familiar with it, and she knew where everything was. She knew that the fifth stair squeaked and the cabinet under the sink didn't stay shut. She knew exactly where to turn the temperature knobs on the sinks and in the shower to get the right water heat. The idea of living somewhere else seemed alarming. As did the idea of packing up—especially because a large portion of the items that remained in the house belonged to James. When she had left in the wake of the divorce, she had taken her most important belongings with her, leaving only things like paintings or artifacts behind for convenience's sake.

For a while, though, it would be okay. She would live with the memories that the house brought, holding on to the ones that she wanted to cherish and banishing the ones that she never wanted to think of again. She would start planning, start looking around to find a new place in a nice neighborhood, and she would explain things to Nick in a way he could understand.

Jasper was being looked after by the Sweets family, she had been informed. But the dog would be coming with them, of course. And that was something else she had been looking forward to. She had not been able to take him with her following the divorce, regardless of if she had wanted to or not. It simply would not have been possible… and beyond that, she had wanted the pet to stay with Nick. They got along better than any child and dog combination she had ever seen, and she could not bear to part them.

They would all be together, soon, though. Her immediate family in Nick and Jasper, and her expanded family in Booth and Parker. It would all be okay, and it would all be perfect.

Eventually.

"Have you been behaving for Grandpa Max?" she asked.

He nodded eagerly. "Of course!"

She smiled, and let him start off on a story about something Max had told him in the past few days. It was a nice distraction, and an easy one. His laughter was contagious, and when the door cracked open an hour later, they were still talking amicably about various things she had missed in the past weeks. Neither of them, of course, mentioning the reasoning for it.

It was Booth who had poked his head into the room, an amused smile on his face as he came fully into view. He was alone this time, and he was smuggling a box under his jacket, which he revealed as soon as the door was shut firmly behind him.

Nick bounced with excitement, his face lighting up, and Brennan smiled in pleasant surprise when he popped the lid and showed her the half-meat-half-veggie pizza he had snuck into the hospital. It was one of the smaller sized ones, the sort she used to get on nights when it was just her and Nick while James worked late, and they easily finished it together. She suspected Booth had eaten beforehand, because he only took one slice, gladly giving Nick as much as he wanted—and insisting that Brennan have a third when she started to turn it down more out of politeness than lack of desire.

There was something that Brennan had never gotten the chance to see—at least not often—in these past years of her life since her son had arrived. And that was any sort of interaction between him and her partner.

A part of her had always worried that they wouldn't get along. That there might be something from Booth, some part of the hostility she sometimes sensed in him, that Nick would pick up on. It was irrational, of course, because Booth loved all children and would never blame them for the decisions of their parents… but it had still existed within her regardless.

That wasn't the case at all, though, and she gladly fell silent and settled into the role of observer, a soft smile on her face as she watched Booth question Nick about sports and video games and what sort of pizza topping was the most amazing.

The four year old fell so easily into the conversation, it was hard to tell that the two had hardly gotten the chance to speak in the past.

Her heart panged suddenly. A small amount of guilt, waiting to be unleashed. Was it wrong to see the joy in this? To be glad of the way this was working out? Her son's father was dead, and the boy still didn't even _know_.

But she pushed the thought away. Convinced herself that she was going to take everything as slowly as possible. She wasn't trying to replace James for Nick. She wasn't trying to bring Booth in as a new father figure, so he would forget about his biological roots. She was trying to mend things, though. Trying to make things better. She was trying to salvage a family, and friendships, and see what she had left to live with in the wake of what had just happened to not only her, but all of them.

Soon, she would tell Nick the truth. Not all of it, but the basics for certain. The things he would ask questions about.

In this moment, she relaxed. There was still some time. Still some happiness to hold on to before she faced the waves that were heading towards her.

And there would be happiness waiting in the aftermath of the storm. She had to believe that, or she'd have nothing left at all. Nothing to cling to.

**Feedback, please? I'm going to be fighting through a boatload of homework tonight, and every email that pops up in my inbox will be a motivation to get it done, and to get back on track with my writing :)**


	34. Fear

**A/N: So... according to my clock I'm about an hour and a half overdue on this chapter. I'm sorry for not getting this up sooner, but I actually just finished typing it. It's long, so I hope that makes up for it. The song for this one is Fear by OneRepublic. **_  
_

_Chapter 33: Fear_

_No sleep  
Today  
Can't even rest when the sun's down  
No time  
There's not enough  
And nobody's watchin' me now_

_When we were children we'd play_  
_Out in the streets just dipped in fate_  
_When we were children we'd say_  
_That we don't the meaning of_  
_Fear, fear, fear,_  
_Fear, fear, fear_  
_We don't know the meaning of…_

_July 18__th__, 2018_

It was early afternoon, on Wednesday, when they finally released Brennan from the hospital. She had more bandages than she wanted to think about, and an overwhelming number of prescriptions—which Angela had agreed to pick up for her—but she was just glad to be out and free. The hospital had begun to stifle her, with the pale walls and the cheerful nurses and the over-powering scent of cleaning products.

Outside, though, she realized she wasn't exactly sure what do with herself. The air was warm and clean, and a cool breeze stirred through her hair as she allowed Angela to guide her from the mandatory wheelchair, through the doors, and out onto the open sidewalk. She hadn't been outside, consciously, since she had stepped through the doors into the airport all the way back in New Hampshire. It was a strange realization.

"Hold up, sweetie," Ange said, digging into her purse for her keys.

Brennan paused on the edge of the sidewalk, reaching a hand forward to lean herself as casually as she could against the vehicle. She winced, her face turned away from her friend so as to hide it. A sharp shot of pain cut through her abdomen, and she tried as well as she could to compose her face. She wasn't fooling Angela, though.

The artist's expression creased with immediate sympathy as soon as she looked up, her keys in hand.

"Bren?"

"I'm fine," she insisted, shaking her head. "Just… stretched the stitches a little."

Angela nodded, sadness fleetingly crossing her face before she forced it away with what might have been an overly-cheerful smile. "Let's get you home, alright?"

Another grimace, this time in distaste. "I'm not sure I'm up for this," she admitted, scowling slightly.

Angela opened the door for her and ushered her into the vehicle.

"I know that you're probably tired, but… just pretend to be surprised when you see everyone, okay? I told you so you wouldn't freak out at me. Not so we could skip out on the party."

"I appreciate everyone getting together to welcome me home… but I don't know how much fun I'm going to be. I mean… you know I'm not much for parties in general."

"Yes, I know. And I'll clear everyone out after an hour if you decide you want your space. Sound like a good plan?"

Brennan scrunched up her nose, and then shrugged. "Fine."

Angela pulled them out into traffic, and they didn't speak for a while. When they were only a few turns away from the house, though, they stopped at a red light and her friend turned to her.

"I did some rearranging. In your house. I hope you don't mind, and I can… fix it, if you decide you don't like it. I refilled your closet with the things that you left at my place, too. But we'll, uh… need to go shopping at some point."

_Because they took your belongings from Booth's place_, Brennan filled in.

Some of it had been reclaimed, Booth had told her. But the clothing… she didn't want to see it again. And the rest of it… there were just so many terrible memories. So many things she never wanted to think about again.

She didn't want any of it back.

The driveway was filled with cars, and if that wasn't a dead giveaway then the balloons certainly were. They bounced against one another, their foil glimmering in the sunlight. The words 'Welcome home!' and 'Get well soon!' shone merrily on them in various colors.

"Do I still have to act surprised?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angela gave her a mock-irritated glare, and then hurried to get out and around before Brennan could get herself out of the car. She sighed her frustration as her friend helped her out by her arm.

"I'm fine, Ange. Really."

She winced as she stepped up onto the sidewalk, though, and Angela gave her a sharp look that clearly said: _This is what I mean._

Gritting her teeth in a mixture of pain and frustration, she straightened herself out and fixed her shirt so that it didn't show any of the bandage lines underneath it.

Angela looped her arm through hers without question, and guided her up the pathway to the door. She decided she was simply too tired to fight her on it. The door opened before they were even up the front stairs, and she found everyone gathered around in her entryway as she stepped over the threshold.

There were voices surrounding her, engulfing her, and she found that she was warm—comfortable, really, surrounded by their reassuring blanket of friendship and love. This was her family.

"Welcome home, Dr. B."

"So glad to have you back."

"It hasn't been the same without you."

She smiled and thanked people, and hugged everyone who approached her. In all honesty, it was easier than she'd been expecting. Booth stayed close by, and every now and then his hand would brush against hers as a reminder that things had changed. Things were better now.

They had all come. Every single one of them. Cam, Sweets, Hodgins, Harper, Zach, Russ, Max, Angela, Booth...

When her friends began to trickle slowly out the door, she realized several hours had passed without her noticing. Booth and Angela hovered, and ultimately the last ones out the door, besides the two of them, were her father and brother.

It was clear that Max did not want to part with her, but after she promised for what felt like the hundredth time that night that she was okay, he finally, regretfully, pulled away from their last embrace and stepped across the threshold. She waved farewell when he turned back just before getting into his car, and he held up his hand in mirror of the action before eventually driving away.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she turned back to her home, closing the door behind her. The air conditioner thrummed in the corner, fighting the heat that had drifted in with each parting. Booth was sitting at one end of her couch, and Nick was plopped down next to him, his small legs sticking straight out while he leaned back, pointing out something on the screen of his Nintendo game to her partner.

Angela had occupied herself with the clean-up, immediately cutting Brennan off when she started to say that she didn't need to do it for her. The glare she gave her, in fact, was positively threatening.

Resigned, Brennan settled into her favorite armchair, and took the opportunity to survey her house. With so many people all over the place, she hadn't actually taken the time to just focus on the details.

She had to admit, Angela had done a good job. Everything was clean, and the smooth surfaces of her tabletops and mantelpiece shone, free from dust for the first time in ages. But more than that, the place itself had changed. Not her furniture, not her possessions… but the way they were set up.

For years, Angela had been bugging her to let her do a makeover. It appeared she had taken this opportunity and decided to run with it. The couch was angled into the corner, turned more towards the fireplace but leaving enough of a view aimed towards the television. She had also arranged the other furniture around it to form a semi-circle. She liked how it felt cozy.

And she liked how it didn't feel the _same._

She hadn't been in the bedroom yet, but she had a feeling James' clothing and his other personal belongings had been removed. Somehow, though, she didn't think she'd be sleeping in there tonight. Unless Angela had replaced her entire bed, and that didn't seem likely.

Nick's video game made a sound, and a loud chorus of disappointment rose from both he and Booth.

"You try," Nicholas insisted, holding the handheld device in Booth's direction. The agent looked alarmed for a moment, and then hesitantly accepted the offering. "You press 'B' to jump," Nick directed knowledgeably. "'A' is the fire button, and you can use the buttons on top for power-ups. No, not that one. That one you use to duck. I never use that one."

"You never need to duck?"

"Nah, I've got a teleporting power. Here, you've gotta hit the buttons the right way… I'll show you." He took the device back, and Booth was grinning in amusement as he tried to follow along. Brennan remembered this game. Her son had attempted to teach her months ago, when she'd first bought it for him. She hadn't approved at first, of the idea of having a four-year-old using so many electronics, but Angela had promised her that he would be up to date with the other kids once he started school, and the hand-eye coordination would be useful later in life. Just so long as she made sure he went outside to play at some point, something the artist struggled with in regards to her two boys.

"We should set up a play date," Angela said in a low murmur, coming over to stand by Brennan's side. "Trace and Garrett have been asking about it. Even Kate wants to see him again. We can do it at my place; I'll take them out for an ice cream or something and let them play cowboys in the yard like they did last time."

Brennan nodded slowly, recognizing the offer for what it was. She was being offered an out—a way to get some time to herself in the following days while she recuperated.

She found herself oddly grateful: eager to accept.

Nick would have a good time, as always, and she would obtain several hours within which she might be able to get organized. She needed to start figuring out what she wanted to get rid of in this house. She needed to start researching new neighborhoods and hunting for new houses. Briefly, she considered the idea of buying an apartment. She had enjoyed that lifestyle—had liked having a doorman tip his hat when she came in, and hold the door for her when she was leaving. She had liked being in the bustle of things in the city. It would be very possible to do that now; an apartment would easily be big enough for her and her son.

At the same time, though, she loved the openness, the peace, that came with living in a quiet neighborhood. There were no overwhelming fumes, no rushing cars on the streets below, and no worries about neighbors being annoyed by the running feet and the loud laughter.

The yard work would be more challenging on her own, but she planned to find a pleasant lot that she was sure she could handle. If necessary, she was even sure she could find a nice teenager willing to do her lawn mowing for her for a small fee.

It was a shame that she would be losing Julie. It was hard to find a trustworthy babysitter these days, and she was not looking forward to the task that would come with that particular search.

"You should get going," she said at last to her friend, giving her a knowing look. They had taken separate cars, so Hodgins was already back home and their children were most likely in bed by now. But still, Angela had work in the morning where Brennan did not. And she wanted to talk to Booth, alone. There were some things that had been bothering her. Some things that were weighing on her mind, and they were back in full strength now that she was in this house, among the things that had once belonged to her and her ex-husband.

Angela seemed to read the deeper meaning behind this, and quietly acquiesced with her suggestion, offering her a quick hug and calling her farewells to the two occupied boys on the couch. Nick waved a zealous goodbye, and Booth offered a grin and a brief raise of his hand in acknowledgement.

"See you soon, Ange," he said, his eyes drifting back to the video game.

"Bedtime, young man," Brennan said, trying to sound stern but failing. She straightened the folded blanket that sat on the back of the couch as she moved around the coffee table. He sighed loudly, rolling his eyes, but slid himself off the couch regardless, still clutching the video game.

"Save your place in that, and you can play in the morning."

"Really? First thing in the morning?"

"After breakfast," she correct with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged, clearly still feeling like he was getting away with something extra special, and worked at the buttons on the device as he headed towards the stairs.

"Watch your feet!" she called after him, shaking her head.

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'll be up in a minute to get you ready for bed. You better not still be playing that game when I get there."

"I won't be," came the faint response.

She stepped back around the corner from the base of the staircase, and into the living room. Booth was sitting on the couch, in the same space he had been only a moment before. He smiled, but they both felt the change in the atmosphere. There was no need to act when they were alone. There was no façade to put up, and no exterior to project for the sake of Nick. She wasn't sure what that meant for them, really.

What were they, at this point?

And how was she supposed to ask him for the answers that she so desperately needed?

"I should… go get him tucked in for the night."

He nodded, but said nothing. Made no move to leave. Still, she felt the need to reassure herself.

"You… will you still be here when I get back?"

"If you want me to be," he answered simply, tilting his head and regarding her with a sense of curiosity. She looked away under the scrutiny.

"I'll be back soon," she said, a half-answer that she knew would keep him from disappearing on her, and then whisked around the corner and took the stairs slowly, giving Nick the chance to shut down and put away the game that she didn't doubt he was still playing away at.

He was struggling with his pajamas when she stepped into the bedroom, knocking softly on the door before letting herself in. The video game was sitting open on the edge of his bed, but the screen was dark, so at least he had shut it off.

They endured the usual struggle to get each article of clothing on the right way, and then moved through the rest of the routine, from brushing his teeth to getting him a glass of water and finally to getting him tucked in.

She read a short picture book to him, one of his favorites that was more pictures than words and thus required little effort on her part, and finally headed towards the door, flicking on his nightlight and reaching for the light switch to turn off the overhead bulbs on his crayon-themed fan.

"Mom?" he said, stopping her short. She hovered, her hand on the switch.

"Yes?"

"Where's Dad?"

She swallowed sharply. "Dad… can't be here right now. But you and me… are going to talk about that later, okay? I don't want you to worry about it. Get some sleep—we'll have pancakes in the morning, and we can go to the Diner for lunch."

"Okay." He didn't seem satisfied, but at least he slumped back onto his pillow and pulled the covers up to his chin.

She flicked the lights off and started to shut the door behind her when he called out again.

"Mom?"

"What is it, Nicky?"

There was silence, for a long moment, and she waited, seeing only the shadow of him with the help from the nightlight. She couldn't make out his expression.

"You aren't going away again, are you?"

Now, she was glad for the darkness as she fought the tightness in her throat. She swallowed, closing her eyes and warding off the waves of emotion that wanted to crash over her head.

"No. No, I'm not. Never again, sweetheart."

There was another long pause, and then, quietly. "I'm glad."

The mattress squeaked slightly, and she knew he was rolling over, getting more comfortable.

"Goodnight," she said softly. "I love you."

"Love you too," he echoed sleepily.

She left the door open a crack and lowered the lighting in the hallway before slowly beginning her descent back to the living room. Brushing her eyes quickly and composing her features, she finally rounded the corner and found Booth exactly where she had left him.

He looked up expectantly, and smiled in greeting. Without preamble, she dropped herself into the cushion at the other end of the couch, tucking her legs up and turning herself so she faced him directly.

"What's on your mind, Bones?" he asked at last, when it was clear she wasn't actually going to say anything.

"I want to know the truth," she began tentatively, after letting the silence linger for longer than might have been necessary. She still wasn't entirely sure of how to format this. She didn't know how he would react to her questions, or if he would answer at all. She was counting on it, though. She was trusting that he would see how much she needed the truth more than she needed his protection.

"About what?"

"James," she said firmly, tilting her chin up and offering a challenge in the steely gray of her eyes. It was time to get everything out in the open. It was time to start filling in the gaps, so she could prepare herself to close that chapter of her life. Only then could she starting writing a new one, after all. He should be able to understand that.

Booth's eyes widened, and he sat up a little straighter. She could almost see the metaphorical wheels turning in his head. Carefully, as though he were testing the waters, he queried, "What exactly do you want to know?"

"Everything. But… maybe it would be best to start at the beginning. Or at least… what I know to be the beginning. How did he die? What happened? No one would get me the file."

"You were in the hospital, Bones. Your doctors would have killed us if we gave you the file on your ex-husband's murder to just… peruse."

"And they were certainly supportive of the pizza and the Thai food," she responded dryly.

He winced. She had him, and he knew it.

She watched him consider it, and she knew he was thinking back on the details. Working out how to put them in the right order, figuring out how best to phrase it. She appreciated that; appreciated the reason for the silence. He was going to explain, and that was the important part.

"He was shot in the head," he began bluntly, and she nodded. Images came to mind, but she focused on the ones that she could detach from. Bones; they were her sanctuary, as always. She knew what the damage would look like. She knew how to measure trajectory, she knew how to extract a bullet. She could easily have worked this case, had it been necessary and had she not been compromised by her relationship to the victim.

He seemed to have been waiting on a sign from her that she was okay with clinical terms. That she was happier with them, really, and so now he moved ahead as she leaned forward, waiting.

"We don't have any surveillance on where the shot came from, but we can determine that the gun was fired from across the street. Most likely out of a parked vehicle."

"Were you ever able to definitively connect… _them_ to it?"

She had discovered she disliked using their names. She hated the way they sounded. Hated everything to do with them.

Booth was shaking his head, and she found herself bitter with that disappointment despite knowing that the evidence against them was strong when it came to the kidnapping of herself and Veronica Wheeler, as well as the death of the other woman.

"But we're working on it, still. Don't worry about that, Bones. They're going away forever."

Neither of them had mentioned it, but she knew she would have to speak at the trial. She would have to tell the world what had been done to her, and she would have to accept that her friends, her family, everyone she cared about… would find out as well.

She didn't want to think about it, and so she forced it away for now. There were still other things, just as unpleasant, that she was in the process of handling. Things that she needed to be finished with.

"Why was he killed? What did he know about… about what they had done with me? What didn't he tell you when you questioned him?"

At this, he gave her a surprised look, and she realized why before he even began to speak. Booth didn't know that the brothers had told her that James was dead. He didn't know about any of the things they had said to her.

She looked away, and she heard more than saw his mouth close again. He was waiting on her, sensing she was trying to gather her words together.

"They said that… that he was dead. That they had killed him. And that… he had kept his mouth shut, because they knew he had talked to you, but that he hadn't said anything. I wasn't sure whether or not to believe them… but I've found nothing to contradict it since I woke up in the hospital."

Booth cleared his throat, folding and unfolding the edge of his sleeve cuff over and over again. His hands were shaking slightly, she realized. "I did question him, yeah. And… we knew he was afraid. More afraid of something out there than something we could threaten him with. So we let him go… figured we would watch him. Bring him in a again if we picked up on anything else."

"Only he was killed first," Brennan filled in for him.

He nodded heavily. "Yeah, he was killed before I could get the truth out of him. Sweets… Sweets says that he knew more about what had… what had happened to you than he was telling us. And I guess he was right to be afraid, because they got to him before we could."

Something about the way he was speaking was nagging at her, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. Not until he murmured a last thing, something she barely caught.

"If I hadn't let him go… we might have gotten to you sooner."

Guilt. That was what it was: guilt.

She almost trembled with the disbelief of it. He blamed himself? For what, exactly?

"Booth, none of this was your fault."

He turned and met her gaze dead-on, his eyes a mirror of her previous challenge. "You were missing for four days, Bones. Four days, and I didn't get you out of there until the end of them. When you were barely holding on. I almost _lost_ you, because I didn't get there sooner."

Her mouth open with incredulity, she shook her head.

"_They_ kidnapped me, Booth. _They_ held me captive those four days. _They_ are the ones who… who _tortured_ me. And you… from what Angela tells me, you almost killed yourself trying to find me. I am only alive _because_ of you. I don't care about the rest, okay? I don't _care_."

The guilt would not go away from his features, and she hated it. She just wanted to erase it. She wanted to make it go away, and replace it with the understand that she possessed. He could not, and should not, have done anything any differently. He had rescued her, in the end. That was what counted. And the fact that he was here now, that he was the one she could always rely on, though thick and thin.

If only he could see it that way.

"Why _did_ they kill him, though?" she asked, getting back on point. If he wouldn't forget it himself, than she would distract him until she figured out the right thing to say.

Now, Booth shifted uncomfortably.

He knew the answer, and she was well aware of it. She was also aware that whatever it was… was something he didn't want to tell her. Something he thought she was better off _not_ knowing. Unfortunately, she had to disagree.

"Booth."

He sighed, resting his head on the heel of his hand.

"We found out who had taken you… because Angela made a financial connection between a payment James made and a sudden rise in the hidden funds the brothers had going for themselves."

She nodded, waiting for the explanation.

He watched her for a moment, and then seemed to come to grips with the fact that she wasn't going to figure it for herself from just that. He grimaced, and then finally said, his eyes shut and his head bowed, "James paid Kevin and Joel a large sum of money. About a month before you were taken."

Slowly, her blood began to run cold. The chill washed over her, and a shiver raced down her spine. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying.

"He paid them?" she insisted, even though she knew she'd heard him correctly the first time. She swallowed sharply. "Booth. He paid them to… to do what they did to me?"

"Not necessarily, it—"

"How much?"

"Bones, you can't—"

_"How much?"_

With a resigned sigh, he buried his head in his hands again before saying softly, "Twenty thousand."

There was anger, there, now, mixed with the horror. She felt her hands trembling on her lap, and she clutched at her knees for support, her nails digging in.

"He knew? He knew where I was? He _knew_ what they would… what they would _do_ to me?"

Booth was shaking his head, his expression frantic, "Sweets says that… he probably had no clue." He cleared his throat, "He probably… he probably paid them to kill you, Bones. He wouldn't have known they were sociopaths."

She was trembling harder now, but she felt no constriction in her throat and no tears building in her eyes. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, really. Mostly, she felt sort of… numb.

"Why?" she forced out at last. "Wh-why did he want me _dead _so badly?"

She thought back on all those moments of tension between them. All the little fights they had, all the months they hadn't slept together, all the times he must have spent with Maggie instead of with her. Had he been planning this for a long time? Had he been plotting to have her out of the picture all this time?

"The best Sweets could give me was that… he got in too deep. Your marriage, and then the affair… he didn't know how to get himself out of any of it. And he didn't want you gone so he could start over with Maggie. He wanted an entirely new start, with just your son."

"He had them kill Maggie," she said, realization dawning as she started to nod.

"Yeah, that's what we've figured out so far. But Bones… I agree with Sweets. James… he didn't know what they were going to do to you. They did what he wanted when it came to Maggie. They got her out of the way, and they got away with it. The affair came out, but he was ready for that. And we assume that a part of the… the deal was that they would handle the divorce as well."

"He got his money's worth," she muttered darkly.

"And he's also dead because of it," Booth reminded her gently. His hand landed tentatively on her knee, and she lifted her head to glance at it before connecting her gaze with his once again.

They were silent, for several long minutes.

"He must have… hated me," she whispered at last. Booth's hand slid from her knee and found hers, clasping it tightly.

"No, Bones. I don't think he did. I think… he didn't understand how much he loved you."

She laughed harshly, a sharp, biting sound of disbelief.

"He wanted to get away from me so badly that he decided to have me _killed_."

"I never said he was a genius, Bones. But… he had you. He had you, and he couldn't understand what that meant. He didn't know… how lucky he was. And yeah, he was really fucking stupid. And an asshole, too. Don't get me wrong… I will _never _forgive him, even now that he's dead, for what he did to you. For his part in everything that happened. But he didn't start out with the intention to hurt you. And you… it's not your fault, that it went wrong. At the beginning, you were right about him. You couldn't have known where it would lead."

She nodded slowly, starting to understand that he was reassuring her. He was trying to make her see that this had nothing to do with her bad decisions in men. Even though it certainly looked that way. Even though she was already sure of it, herself. In the past, she had made terrible choices. But this one… this one had topped the charts.

Her thoughts turned to Nick, sleeping peacefully upstairs.

There was good, in the midst of the bad. There was reason not to have regrets. She could admit that as well. And so she chose to accept what Booth was telling her, even if she doubted the logic behind it. It would make him feel better, and maybe her as well, if she could only keep herself focused on the positive outcomes. It would be a start. A good way to begin this new chapter of her life story. And Booth was providing the advice… so there had to be some truth there, and most assuredly a lot of heartfelt honesty.

"I can never tell Nick," she murmured finally.

He nodded heavily, understanding that this was a finality that could not be avoided. "Tell him… what he needs to know. And, I know I might not feel this way, and you might not… but let him have his Dad. Let him win this one; let him have the illusion."

She thought it over, thought through the words, the phrases that she could string together. She thought of what her son would say. Thought of how he might react to such things. Thought of the pain she would be dredging up into his eyes, and the agony she would be bringing into his still-too-young heart. He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve to have his family split up. Didn't deserve the confusion he had already been through and the confusion that was still coming at him from all angles.

She didn't deserve it either, but she would have gladly taken the whole of it in order to spare her son.

But this was reality, and in it she could not hide the truth. She could not fabricate a story. Could not tell her son his father was off fighting lions in Africa or something heroic and fascinating. She had to tell him, in plain terms, that his father was dead and he was never coming back. She had to make him understand that concept, even if he hated her for it. Because she was a woman who had once been a girl who had been lied to. She had been deceived, in so many more ways than the average child was deceived by their parents.

And she had not appreciated those lies.

She had suffered for them, suffered at the hands of men who should have protected her, suffered in the cold of a locked car trunk, suffered in the confines of a closet in the bareness of winter, suffered in the classrooms where she stood out, suffered in the baggy clothing that smelled of garbage bags.

She knew what it was to pay for the lies.

She would not do that to her son, no matter what it might mean to protect him. No matter how she might justify that it was a necessity.

No, he needed this, the way she had needed the honesty when she was that fifteen year old girl staring out the window as her brother drove off and left her with the weight of the social worker's hand on her shoulder.

The weight of the world.

"He's only four," she stated unnecessarily, shaking her head.

The statement was heavy in and of itself. Booth's head bowed, and he nodded.

"You'll make him understand. And someday… he'll be glad you told him."

She nodded.

His hand was heavy in hers. His grip was reassuring. There was a support, an exchange. Taking the weight of the world away, blending it with his own burden. She should have begrudged him for it, for taking so much more on when she had spent years trying to steal some of the chains he carried to hold for herself… but now she only felt the gratitude.

She gave his hand a squeeze. She smiled slightly.

He smiled back; returned the gesture.

They had an understanding, though, and when the silence stretched on, its comforting blanket wearing thin, he shifted and slowly allowed her hand to fall from his with only the aid of gravity.

"I should get home," he murmured, blinking and tilting his head at her. A question in the depths of his eyes.

She bit her lip, and then nodded.

"I will… see you soon."

"Yeah. Soon, Bones," he agreed. Another smile, but this time it was more tentative, on both ends.

When he left, she felt the weight return. It sagged from the ceiling overhead, from the innocent, joyful weight of her son's sleeping body, pulled down by the knowledge that she could not keep from him much longer.

Time was running thin, and she could feel it as surely as she had felt the air running out in that coffin.

She was drowning in the seconds as they dripped off the clock.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The nightmares were short, but repetitive. There was no rest between them, no moment to relax in between the jolts that yanked her from the sleep and into the sweaty terror as she sat up on the couch, the blankets bunched around her, half of them on the floor or heading in that direction.

She would have gladly avoided sleeping at all, if her body would have allowed it. But each nightmare dragged her deeper into her exhaustion, until the cycle was practically eating her alive. She could find no respite from it, and she found herself pacing in the glow from the digital display on her DVD player.

4:30 AM.

She could feel the coffin walls around her. Could feel the ragged breaths in her throat as she tried to work up a scream but found her throat too tight, her lungs too empty, her brain too slow and fuzzy. No sound would escape, no movement would suffice, and all she could feel were the walls, until she was pounding her hands at the thin air overhead, slamming into walls that were not there. Walls that were crushing, but made of the air itself.

The air was a killer, just as it had been in that car underground, just as it had been in that trunk at a mere sixteen years of age.

The repetition was killing her. The cycles, long and short. She was repeating, always doomed to the follow the same paths as she had forged in her past. Or, rather, the paths which had been forged for her, without her consent. Without her knowledge. Without her acceptance.

There had never been a choice, and she hated that knowledge. Hated it with a passion that allowed her to pace, allowed her to focus on the rush of the blood beneath her skin, and to hear each breath as it passed in and out of her lungs. Giving life rather than breathing death. Replacing the fear with the logic that she was so desperately lacking these days.

There was still no reprieve.

She woke again periodically, hour after hour, to pace again. To work off the steam, to race through her thoughts behind a pace car she couldn't hope to catch, trying to make things fall into place. Trying to keep herself in her living room, trying to keep herself in the present. Trying to rescue herself, over and over again, from a dark basement and a thin mattress.

Trying to keep herself from testing for the blood she could feel dripping down her skin.

She showered at six o'clock, and again at seven-thirty.

Still, she felt no different. Her hair was cold, and she clutched the blankets more fiercely around herself. She focused, chanted reality to herself, narrated the scene she was living as she sometimes did when she was working on a scene for her characters.

Nothing was working; nothing she had used in the past to fight off the terrors was working now, and she was lost in the fog. Melting through the floors down to a basement she never wanted to see again, because all basements would be that cellar, all cement would be that cement, all blood would be that blood, all blades and tools would be those which were for her only. For her and that faceless, nameless woman who had been her predecessor in this place.

But she wasn't there, she reminded herself, as light came through the windows and reminded her that it was almost eight o'clock.

She was home. There was no car trunk, there was no coffin, there was no thin mattress. There were no walls around her. Only the ones covered in the paint she had chosen and the paintings she had been given. She was surrounded by memories, and she tried to grip them.

It was like gripping smoke.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Why did you sleep on the couch?" Nicholas asked as she placed his breakfast dish in front of him. It was a good question. A very good one, really.

She kept the smile in place, laughed, and said that she was testing out the new set-up Aunt Angela had made for them.

He liked that. Wanted to know if he could sleep there tonight. Like a sleep-over. Or camping out.

She said no, probably a little too quickly. She masked it by getting him extra syrup and reminding him of their plans to go to the Diner later.

Maybe a movie, too. Or miniature golfing. Whatever he wanted to do.

He found it odd. She could see it on his face. But he said nothing. He was pleased with the arrangement, even if he was confused.

So he said nothing, and she said nothing. It was an agreement that she was grateful for.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The flashbacks hit randomly. The first, at the movie theatre. The darkness was her savior, and the distraction of the big screen. Nick didn't notice a thing, and she doubted the young couple a few seats to their right was even watching the _movie_.

No, she was the only one aware of the shift.

It was the light. The darkness, and the light. The contrast there, the star she had almost forgotten about. The one she was supposed to hold onto. It taunted her. The knives reached out to cut. The pain was an old one, and a new one.

She despised the repetition. Despised how she could not tell the difference between past and present. Despised how helpless she felt.

Most of all… she despised how she could not tell anymore if she was the same person she had been all those years ago. Was she that teenage girl again? Was she really so far gone? Had she lost everything that made her who she was? Because she no longer felt like Dr. Temperance Brennan.

She no longer felt like Bones.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It never occurred to her to call anyone.

They were her family; they were the ones who could help her through this. They would be there for her, she was sure of it.

And yet, she never found herself in possession of that desire—the desire to pick up the phone and call any of them. She could have left it all to stubbornness. Could have said she wanted to handle this herself, and that was why. But she knew it wasn't the truth. She knew why she hadn't called anyone, and she tried not to acknowledge it if it was at all possible.

She didn't want them to know.

She didn't want _anyone_ to know what she had been through. And she didn't want them to know, most of all, how much it had broken her.

Because she was shattered, and she felt it fully. She could almost see her fragments, and measure how far each piece had skittered away from the place it had once called home in her being.

Two days after she returned home, Angela stopped by with a plate of cookies wrapped up in foil. She brought flowers, too, which she explained were from the entire team. Her favorites, of course. The daisies and daffodils looked too bright on her kitchen counter. She smiled at them, though. They were beautiful, after all, and she was glad that her friends had taken the time.

Angela was no idiot. She saw through Brennan's façade before she was even through the door.

She unwrapped the cookies and put a few on a napkin for Nick before sending him off to watch cartoons in the living room. And then she directed Brennan to one of her counter stools, and seated herself directly across, leaning forward on her elbows with a dark look in her eyes.

"You should have called me," she said after a moment.

Brennan didn't meet her gaze, choosing to stare at a particularly interesting swirl in the marble.

"Brennan."

She twisted her lips and chanced a look up. The concern she saw there, in her friend's eyes, almost knocked the breath out of her.

"Sorry," she said softly, shaking her head. She tried a smile. Tried to be reassuring. She was doing okay, after all. Nick was happy, and she was making full meals for the two of them every night. They went to the park, they watched movies together.

She fought through the flashbacks and assured him it was okay; she had just jarred one of the injuries from her accident, and yes, it hurt. But she was fine. Really.

Even he was starting to doubt her.

Angela came by far more often after that, but it was obvious she had not spoken to Booth. If she had, he would have moved himself into her house. She was nearly positive of it.

She didn't tell Angela much. Didn't want her friend to know of the knife slashes that hit her during the day, or the lack of air in the lungs and the way she thought they would never feel full again. The way it was so hard to breathe without thinking of it, the way it was so simple to believe that there was simply not enough oxygen surrounding her. Like she was trapped in a bubble.

It was imprisoning.

And she didn't want to bring Angela in there with her. She did not want to share the bubble. Did not want to share that terrible burden. It was a weight for her, and her alone.

When Angela reached for her hand, sometimes, when she tried to make contact, tried to offer a hug, tried to reassure with her warmth and her gentle care… Brennan pulled back. She pulled back without realizing it, pulled back out of habit.

Pulled back because she could not let the shadows spread. Couldn't let that fog drag the others down with her. She could keep it from Nick. Could convince him it was nothing, that it was all good. She could promise a milkshake and bring the sun back out.

But with Angela, with Booth, with any of the others… it could never be that simple. They would take the weight.

And she didn't want that.

She had never wanted that.

What they had done to her… they had done to her alone.

And she couldn't let them keep winning.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She got better at hiding it, until there was a natural ease in her actions, a simplicity in the smiles she managed to offer.

Cam would not let her go back to her job, though, without a psych evaluation. An evaluation she knew without a doubt that she would fail miserably.

And Booth did not stay away forever. He dropped by, unexpectedly, and caught her in a better moment, miraculously. Caught her when she was with Angela, searching for homes on the internet. He seemed happy with this, and he gladly accepted the offer to join in, handing Brennan a bouquet of flowers with only a bit of embarrassment when he saw that Angela had already filled the house with vases of the vibrant yellow life.

Brennan had to admit, this latest hobby Angela had force-fed to her was a welcome distraction. She actually found some excitement in it, and this was something that helped in her illusion as Booth sat by her side. He saw the happiness. Believed it to be true.

Who was she to correct him?

They had a list going, on a post-it note stuck to the edge of her keyboard. A few possibilities. She had promised Angela she would make some calls. She still had the number of the realtor who had helped her find this place. The houses were there, on the paper. The number was waiting.

And there it stayed. It had been there for a few days now.

_"I'm still adding to the list," _she had assured Angela.

In all honesty, she wasn't sure if she would ever get around to it.

But she should, and she knew that as well. She should, because she needed to get out of this house. This house was only aiding in the darkness. It was only making things worse. She knew this, and yet the number mocked her.

She would not call today. Maybe tomorrow, though.

Maybe.

Booth came by more often, after that. At first, he called, and then he started dropping by on occasion, without cause or explanation.

He asked her when she was planning on going back to work, as casually as he could manage.

"Eventually," she answered. "I want to spend more time with Nick right now."

He could not argue with that.

But she still saw the open disappointment in his eyes. It sobered her, and she changed her mind. She was going to call tomorrow.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The first time she went to see a house, she went by herself. Angela had wanted to go along, and she was sure Booth had silently felt the same way, but she was glad to be alone. Parker was babysitting Nick for her, and she had the evening to herself and a task at hand.

It felt surprisingly good.

Relieving, almost.

The nightmares had been just as bad last night as any other night, but she was getting better at handling them. Her doctor had prescribed her sleeping pills after she had gone back for her check-up and mentioned her problem with getting quality rest. It was helping, but only somewhat. She remembered less of the details from the nightmares, and more of her reactions to them. She felt more rested in the mornings.

There was a disconnect, though, when she walked through the houses. She could not picture herself in them. Could not picture anything the way she used to, when she was looking for homes. It was not like the times she had hunted for apartments, or when she and James had been searching for their first home.

She narrowed down the possibilities, though. She pointed out features she liked. She considered where furniture would go. It felt like she was acting on auto-pilot, but at least it was progress. Progress was always good. It was positive change, and really, anything was better than where she had been before.

She was more ready than ever to get out of that house.

Booth was being careful with her; more careful than she would like. He didn't bring up anything they had discussed in the hospital, even though she knew he wanted to. He kept their talks neutral. He avoided suggesting that they do anything that might sound like a date.

They had been heading towards a date, back in the hospital. They had talked about something like that, hadn't they? Yes, they had.

Guilt gnawed at her.

She knew he wasn't going anywhere, and so she knew that however long she held him on the line, he would wait it out. It wasn't fair to him.

And then, there was the other guilt.

She hadn't told Nick, yet. It had been two weeks, and he had asked twice. Both times, she had found excuses.

She was spiraling downwards.

But looking for a house… that was a step upwards. The first step in an infinite staircase. She couldn't even see where she had started from, anymore, before the fall. She remembered what it was like, there, but she couldn't make herself feel it.

There was a hearing coming up, for the brothers. Deciding bail.

She tried to avoid thinking about that, though.

A new home was what she needed, now.

But she also needed to ensure that the brothers never saw the light of day. She did not know how she would survive it, honestly, if they were allowed out on bail in the months leading up to the actual trial. She was sure she would die if they were on the streets. She was positive of it. They would find a way to get to her. They had connections. And if they were allowed to use them… she would disappear again. She would disappear, and the knives would be back. And the whip, and that mattress, and the cold floor.

The steady drip of blood and water onto cement.

It was irrational, of course. They could never hurt her again. And Booth would ensure that nothing happened to her.

But the fear was very much there.

She couldn't fight it anymore. She could only try to work around it.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Pictures hung on the wall behind her computer desk, of the possible homes she had narrowed her search down to. Nothing stuck out, though, and they had become more decorative than anything else. They'd been hanging there over a week, after all. Angela had stopped commenting on them. Booth barely brought up the concept anymore. He only glanced at the pictures, frowned slightly, and then looked away again.

She had stopped feeling better. The sleeping pills were not helping, and she was not so far gone that she would start overusing them. She tossed them in the trash and gave up, accepting that eventually the nightmares would have to start going away on their own.

They had in the past, after all. This time… this time would be no different, in the long run.

A part of her wanted to talk to Booth about everything. Wanted his reassurance. Wanted him to help her _make_ them go away. She wanted, selfishly, to let him take away the burden. She always stopped herself, because he didn't deserve that. Once she had reminded herself of that, it was easier. Easier to hold the weight up on her shoulders. She was doing it for all of them. And once she got through this, they could start moving on with that next chapter she kept telling herself was waiting somewhere ahead, behind the fog that had settled on her life.

They would go get Thai again, her and Booth. When she was ready again, they would. And it would be the way it was supposed to be. They would find the happiness she had been seeking. They'd be a family, the kind she needed so badly.

It was what she promised herself.

It was what she strived for.

And it was the reason she answered Nick when he finally asked her, again, about the whereabouts of his father.

**I remember saying that this story still had angst ahead. So if you were expecting fluff... then you forgot who was writing this story, my friend. There is a lot of healing that needs to happen before we can get to our happy ending. Not too many more chapters, but they will likely span distances like this one did. Brennan deserves the time to find closure for her pain after all that I've put her through, I think. **

**That being said, It really is 1:30 in the morning here. And I would really love to get back from a long day of classes tomorrow to find reviews waiting for me. I really need to know how well this one was received. We're in the final leg, now, people. If you haven't made yourself heard before now... by all means feel free to speak up now :)**


	35. Make You Feel My Love

**A/N: And here we are, for yet another Tuesday. In my original plan, this would have been the last chapter before the epilogue, but it has not worked out that way. I always find that, towards the end, my outlines tend to get a little fuzzy. This story was no exception. So, there is still a little more to come. Not much, but a little. **

**This chapter is titled for a beautiful song by Adele. Most of you should know it, due to it's part in the ending of Season 6. **_  
_

_Chapter 34: Make You Feel My Love_

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet  
But I would never do you wrong  
I've known it from the moment that we met  
No doubt in my mind where you belong_

_I'd go hungry_  
_I'd go black and blue_  
_I'd go crawling down the avenue_  
_No, there's nothing_  
_That I wouldn't do_  
_To make you feel my love_

_The storms are raging on the rolling sea_  
_And on the highway of regret_  
_Though winds of change are blowing wild and free_  
_You ain't seen nothing like me yet_

_August 5__th__, 2018_

Booth stayed in his place when Mass came to a close, hunched over in the pew. He hadn't been to church in a while—work was busy, and the usual stresses that he could find relief for in this place were heightened to the point where he didn't think praying here or at home was much of a difference. He also found that, if he had the opportunity, he would rather spend the day off keeping an eye on Bones. Actions spoke louder than any words, after all, and it was a lack of action that usually caused him the most grief.

Today, though, Brennan was with Angela, and the artist had requested that he keep himself occupied elsewhere. Parker was out with Clara; food and a movie, he had explained briefly. With the apartment completely empty, Booth had barely even realized where he was going when he left—until he had found himself filing through the doors among familiar faces.

A few greeted him, and he found that he remembered their names. He smiled, asked about their kids or their parents. Made small talk until they all found seats in the pews and slowly murmured themselves into a silence.

The service was long, and he found himself lost in the words, occasionally echoing phrases in his head when they came to a passage which he had memorized.

When he found himself to be one of the last members still lingering, he slowly got to his feet and slid out of the pew and into the aisle, making his way forward to stand before the alter and stare up at the crucifix that hung there above a painting of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

"Father Robbins," he greeted the priest when he appeared by his side.

"Seeley Booth. It's been a while since we last saw you."

He bowed his head. "Yes, I—"

"Don't explain. I've never asked for excuses before, and I still don't to this day."

Booth smiled sheepishly. He knew that, and knew it well.

"You are facing hard times right now, I can see that. You are in my prayers as always. I hope to see you more often, and I am always available… should you need to talk."

"Thank you, Father."

The priest nodded, and then leaned closer, "Bingo is still on Tuesday nights," he whispered.

Booth chuckled, and shook his head.

"You work too hard," Father Robbins informed him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Take some time off; that's my advice for you."

He grinned. "That's excellent advice."

"As is all my advice," the priest noted with a wink. Booth knew there was a reason he'd always the loved the kindly older gentleman. He had a sense of humor that occasionally showed itself to the fullest. He had missed coming to this place.

The ride home was silent. He didn't bother putting on the radio, preferring to listen to the rhythmic, soothing sound of the tires spinning on the pavement beneath him.

He still saw Bones on a regular enough basis. He still visited her, and they still ate together and talked. But it wasn't the same. He missed her. Missed her more than anything in the world, because she wasn't who she had been before. She was changed, and she wasn't letting him in anymore. She was shutting him out, locking in her emotions and hiding behind her walls.

He was losing sight of her, and he didn't know how to handle that. He didn't know how to bring her back to him, how to renew the vibrance that used to exist behind those cerulean blue eyes, the life that used to reflect back at him with vigor whenever she spoke, whenever she argued or bickered with him. Whenever they laughed.

God, her laugh… that was a sound he hadn't heard in months. And her smile… her gorgeous, genuine smile. He'd seen attempts. He'd seen her attempting to look like she was okay. But he knew her well enough, now. Knew enough to know that it wasn't true, that she was trying to act in a role that didn't fit her. She was hurting, inside. She was aching, and she didn't want anyone to see it.

It was killing him.

He had hoped that, given time, she would come around to the idea of sharing with him. That maybe, she just needed a little space to recuperate before she was ready to talk. But as the weeks wore past, it became more and more evident that she was getting worse, not better.

She had no intention of coming back to work. He could see that.

And it scared him, sometimes more so even than the rest of what was happening around him.

The cases had not stopped simply because the infallible Dr. Temperance Brennan was no longer available as a prime resource. He still had to work just as hard, and it limited the time that he dedicated to her, to trying to show her that he was there, and he was going to always be there. If she wanted to talk, he would be waiting. For as long as it took.

What got to him most was not that she didn't want to talk to him, though. It was that she didn't seem to want to talk to anyone. He would have been hurt somewhat, sure, if she had preferred speaking to Angela, or if she had sought out Sweets or one of the other team members. But he would have been glad, at least, to know that she was getting help. This was a spiral that felt like it was never going to end, and they were all being tugged down it with Brennan at the head.

If she would only speak.

Then, maybe, he would have some idea of what direction to go in next.

Right now, he was lost. And he knew she was, too. They just couldn't find each other in the mist that had poured in over their heads.

He made himself a sandwich when he got home, not even really noticing what it was that he put on it until he took a bite and realized he'd forgotten to even cut it in half. He couldn't bring himself to care, just shoving it down and settling in front of the television to put on a game that he wasn't really going to watch.

It felt like he was repeating a familiar pattern, at this point. When he didn't have work to do, when he couldn't be with Bones… he mostly sat around and tried to keep his mind off of things. A task that was proving to be increasingly difficult.

When there was a knock at his door, he didn't know what to make of it. At first, he thought it might be Angela, coming by to talk to him about how things were going with Brennan. After all, they'd been having impromptu get-togethers a lot more often, these days. Brennan was always the topic of interest, and neither of them ever paid much attention to their food. The stress was eating at them, and when they were together… they couldn't seem to keep it from each other.

When he called out to ask who it was, though, he didn't get a response.

Frowning, he got to his feet and moved towards the door, tossing his empty plate on top of a stack of newspapers that he needed to recycle.

He was never so alarmed as he was in the moment that he realized it was Brennan standing outside of his door, shifting nervously and clutching her arms around herself in a tight self-embrace. She looked both ways up his hallway, and then back at his door.

He swallowed sharply, noticing the obviously redness around her eyes, and then pulled the door open. She jumped slightly, a nervous smile twitching on her lips as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Hey, Bones," he greeted, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Do you want to… come in?"

Without a word, she gladly moved across the threshold and passed him, into his apartment. His frown returned to his face the moment her back was turned, and he took a moment to study her stiff posture and the obvious pain that had clutched itself around her before he shut the door softly, locking it and finally moving to follow her.

She sat down on his couch only after he had claimed one end of it, and even then she didn't meet his gaze, preferring to stare down and twist the frayed edges of her sweatshirt sleeve cuffs between her thin fingers.

"Bones."

She bit her lip, hard, and her eyes squeezed shut. But she didn't turn towards him, and those were the only outward indicators that she had even heard him.

"Talk to me," he urged cautiously, sliding himself over so he was on the cushion beside her. He made no move to reach out and touch her, but he hoped the proximity might at least help their situation. Might make her realize she could open up to him.

Something had changed, today. That much was obvious. What it was, though, he couldn't even begin to fathom. And where was Angela? He had been sure the artist was going to be hanging out with her today, trying to make things seem more normal.

The silence stretched on, and she didn't move, didn't speak, didn't give him anything to go off of. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Her eyes opened again, but they stared hollowly forward, not taking in anything. Her fingers stopped moving, and her hands hung limply across her lap.

He didn't ask her again, settling himself into the silence and opting to wait it out. She would speak eventually, if she really wanted to. At this point, trying to force her to do anything was going to be pointless. He wanted her to do this of her own volition, after all.

It was a good five minutes before she even moved slightly. In all honesty, he had started to wonder—with some slight panic—if she was still breathing. The rise and fall of her chest had reassured him, but the longer she stayed like that the more worried he became that this was something he might not be able to fix. That maybe he might _never_ get through to her.

That reality was simply not one that he could accept.

But she didn't force him into that corner, because she suddenly reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her hear, crossing her legs and taking a shallow, steadying breath before she spoke.

"I told Nick," she managed quietly. "I told him that… James was dead."

Booth winced, and was suddenly glad that she was not looking at him and so would not have seen his reaction.

"It didn't go well," he stated softly, interpreting her pained expression as proof. It was not a question, but she nodded her answer anyways.

"No… it didn't."

There was more silence.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" he suggested carefully, praying he wasn't crossing any lines. Hoping he wasn't causing damage he might not be able to repair later on.

She didn't say anything for a moment, and then she swallowed and gave a very slight nod of her head. He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding in, and nodded in return. And then he waited once more.

This time, it didn't take as long.

"I had already… I had waited so long. I should have told him, sooner. But I was… I didn't want to. I didn't think I _could_. And then… whenever he asked I just… I made an excuse. To him, or myself…" she hung her head. "And he asked. Yesterday. He wanted to know the truth, and I couldn't keep it from him anymore. I couldn't keep it to _myself_ anymore."

Booth nodded encouragingly, and she was finally meeting his eyes. Drawing from his strength and the rapt attention in his gaze.

"He just… didn't get it at first. And then he said that I was _wrong_. He told me that… that I went away before, but I came back. That his father… couldn't be gone. And I… I had to tell him he was wrong."

Her voice broke on the last word, and she ducked her head again, her hair falling down as a curtain between them to shield her face from him. He felt the pain radiating off of her. He tried to think of something to say, but ultimately he ended up simply reaching out and placing a hand on her knee. She stared at it, and then let her gaze go back to where it had been before, on a patch of carpet between her feet.

"Is he okay?" Booth asked at last.

"I… I think so." She shook her head, though. "Angela is… watching him for me. He's having a sleepover with Garrett and Trace." She paused, but he didn't interrupt, watching and waiting because he knew there was something else waiting on the tip of her tongue. Trying to escape.

And then she was looking at him, and there was a fierce desperation burning in those deep blue oceans. She was looking for answers, and somehow she already knew that he didn't have them. That no one had them.

"Booth… he said he hated me."

He felt all the air rush out of his lungs in one sharp gust. "Oh, Bones…"

She reached up, brushing desperately at her eyes and fighting back a sniffle that was still terribly audible. The shame on her face almost killed him.

"He didn't mean it, Bones. You know that. You know that he didn't mean it."

She was shaking her head, the motion repetitive and almost too natural. "You weren't there," she whispered.

"No, I wasn't," he agreed quickly. "But I can tell you, Bones… that he doesn't mean it. Kids never really mean it, when they say it. He just… it's a lot to process. And he doesn't know how to handle it, so he does the only thing he can think to do with his emotions. He lashes out."

"Because he blames me," she filled in. "And for obvious reasons."

"Hey," he cut her off sharply. "That's not fair, and you know it. Do you... do you remember that day in the park? The Fourth of July?"

She nodded. He could see her thinking the same thing he was: _How could I forget?_

"When his father took him away from you, he was feeling the same things as when you told him the truth. He's only making the connection there because James forcibly took him away from you. And now he sees this as the same thing… only it's not. And he'll understand that, eventually. He'll see that it's not your fault, and then he'll tell you that he loves you because that's how he truly feels. That's how he's always felt, and how he always will."

"Did Parker ever tell you that he hated you?" she challenged, raising her head.

"Yeah," he admitted. He knew she could see the truth in his eyes. He remembered each and every time that the words had escaped his son's mouth. Sure, half of them had been over trivial things like times when he had been grounded or hadn't been allowed to do something fun with his friends… but that didn't mean they hadn't each left their mark. It would be impossible for them not to have.

She seemed calmed by this, nodding sadly and lowering her head once more. The silence turned pensive.

"They wanted this," she murmured at last. It almost felt like she was saying it more to herself than to him.

It was all she said on the subject, but he knew what she meant. And he knew that she was probably right.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

A long time passed before she mentioned anything to him about her captivity or her captors. For the most part, when they met they were silent. Sometimes it was uncomfortable, but other times it felt just like the days of old, when they would just sit together and enjoy the others company, not even needing words.

But the hearing was only a few days away, now, and none of them could really hide from that fact any longer.

Brennan still wasn't re-instated, so Booth and Angela had organized a team dinner so that all of them could be together. They could catch up, and maybe it would make Brennan start to consider going back. Or at least trying to go back. He knew that she hadn't even glanced at the card that the doctor's office had given her, for the therapist who would be able to certify her again for field duty, and therefore get her back in Cam's good graces for the lab work as well.

Usually, he would have been eager to have her back as soon as possible. He might have even been glad to work around the rules or find a way to get her back on the job that didn't involve any of that shrink mumbo-jumbo. This time, though, things were different. He was suddenly grateful that Cam was so adamant with her decision. Eventually, Brennan was going to need to get back into the lab. They all knew it. And when that time came… she would have to make the sacrifice and talk about what had happened to her.

It would help her, and he was sure of it.

If only it were that easy to convince her that she should go.

The dinner went without a hitch, until it started to come to a close. He had started to think she was doing better. Her smiles had seemed fairly genuine all night long, and she had laughed with the others over a joke Hodgins had told them. Some of his hopes had begun to be renewed, and he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of her the entire time.

With a clatter, Zach fumbled with his silverware, knocking over his mostly empty drink in the process, and a knife tumbled from the table and bounced against her leg before settling onto the floor.

It hadn't cut anyone; there was no blood, no markings, no damage at all.

Except for the sudden emptiness in Brennan's eyes, and the way her hands clutched at the table, her knuckles going white.

He placed a hand on her arm and murmured her name while the others were still focused on the main disturbance that had come with the tipped drink. They gathered their napkins while Zach apologized, and Hodgins reached under the table to fetch the knife.

Besides Booth, he was the only one to notice the change in Brennan's demeanor, giving her a long look when he reemerged, and then flicking his eyes towards Booth to confirm that he wasn't the only one seeing something wrong. When he picked up on Booth's focus, though, he turned his attention to the others, talking above them and drawing the attention. He stood to help with the cleanup, and Booth kept his hand on Brennan as he tried to get her to focus.

He knew what flashbacks looked like; he'd seen and experienced far too many in his time. It rattled him, though, to see her suffering through one. To know that she was gone, in this moment—that she was someplace he had never wanted her to visit again.

"Easy, Bones," he murmured, his voice earnest and low. "We're out with our friends… we're in a restaurant. Can you hear me?"

She wasn't shaking anymore, as she had been at the start. But she wasn't looking at anything in particular, her gaze blankly aimed straight ahead. As he continued to speak, she gradually seemed to register his voice. Her grip loosened on the table, her hands falling back into her lap. She blinked, and a tremble coursed through her thin frame.

"Bones?"

She cut a gaze briefly towards him, and he saw her flush with sudden shame. She pulled away from his touch at once, and stood hastily, stumbling away from her chair and fleeing towards the bathroom.

He swallowed sharply and fell back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

The mess was sorted out, and the others were settling back into their respective places. He saw Angela staring after Brennan with a frown on her face, but the artist didn't get up. She hadn't seen enough of what happened to know the reasoning, and when Booth caught her eyes he gave a slight shake of his head. A sign that she shouldn't follow; she should let Brennan come back in her own time.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"I can't even use my own knives," she said the next day, when they were sitting in her kitchen. He hadn't brought up anything about the night before. They hadn't even been on a topic close to it—they had been discussing the latest releases in kid movies that Nick might like to go see.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise when the words shot out of her mouth without preamble.

That was all she said, though, and there was a long moment of silence while he processed it.

"It will get better," he assured. "I promise you… it will."

He spoke from experience, and she could hear it in his voice.

She just nodded, picking up her fork and pushing around the noodles in her takeout container.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

There was one afternoon, when he had dropped by after work, when he nearly saw her come apart at the seams. It was a Friday, and he had the weekend ahead of him. There were plans with Parker, and some free time that he fully intended to spend with her, even if they didn't talk much and even if they barely laughed or smiled at all. He just needed to be with her, and he was starting to get the sense that she needed to be with him as well.

He had come in the door, shedding his jacket and shaking the water droplets out of his hair. He had a bag with him, from the Farmer's Market he had stopped at on the trip over. The rain might have been pouring down, but that place was rain or shine—real dedication. Apples, red and gold, tumbled onto her counter as he dropped the bag there, and he pushed them back together into a pile, catching them before they could roll their way off the edge and bruise themselves on her cold tile floor.

Healthy food was something that seemed to nearly define her nowadays, when in the past it had merely been a good habit. She spent a large amount of her time in the kitchen, and he suspected that it helped her take her mind off of things. She made impressive meals for her son, and she specialized them when Booth was paying a visit. One of the few things that let him feel a sense of normalcy when he was around her.

He had watched her cut up an apple the other day, picking up the knife with a deftness that spoke volumes. She didn't flinch away from it, cutting with the natural skill he had always seen from her. Six quick strokes, and the chunks of fruit lay around the core. She scraped them from the cutting board onto a dish with a glob of peanut butter and passed it to her waiting son with a smile.

No trace of fear, beyond a slight shadow that passed over her face just before she tossed the tool into her sink. But even that faded quickly, the smile staying in place far longer.

A spark burned in him at that, and he couldn't have been more hopeful than he was in that moment. So he had bought the apples, partly because she had been running low… and partly because he had seen it as something. Something positive. Something to hold onto. And he had wanted to expand that, as much as he possibly could.

She wasn't in the kitchen, and he called her name curiously, knowing he had heard her when he had arrived. She had told him to let himself in, after all, with the key she had given him. A part of her had accepted that he wasn't going anywhere, and she must have been relieved, or at the very least pleased, because he hadn't even asked for it before he found it sitting on his desk with a brief note of explanation.

"Bones?" he called again, stepping away from the counter and peering around the corner towards the staircase. There was no response, and he stepped out and went up the hallway, heading back to the entrance.

He found her there, standing by his jacket. She was just standing back up, and she was holding something. Handcuffs. His handcuffs. They must have fallen out when he was removing his jacket and untying his boot laces—trying to keep her apartment free from the mud he had picked up outside.

The look on her face was not a look he had seen in a long time. It was a look he had seen in the hospital, a look he had seen when he had told her the truth about James. And it was a look he had gotten a glimpse of that day in the restaurant.

"Bones?" he tried tentatively, stepping softly closer and watching her.

Slender fingers ran over cold metal. Eyes locked, she didn't look up when he grew closer. But she knew of his presence there, because she stiffened slightly, her back tensing up when he stood only a few feet to her left.

She relinquished them when he reached forward and carefully pulled them from her grasp, but she did not move. Her arms fell back to her sides, but her gaze stayed downwards as though the cuffs were still there, right where they had been. Like their image was burned into her vision forever.

What she did next, though, haunted him to his core.

Her arms slowly wrapped together, and she rubbed at her wrists. Clutching them and stroking her fingers over them with a sort of desperation. As though if she were to let them loose and on their own… they might be trapped the next second in those shackles she had so long ago escaped.

"Bones…" he breathed, reaching a hand out. It hovered, only inches from her shoulder, and then slowly fell back to his side. He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't know what she wanted, and he didn't know how to make this better.

Time wasn't working. Time wasn't returning her to him. If anything, it was making him feel farther away from her than he had ever felt before. She was on another planet, and he couldn't do anything to get her back home safely. That possibility had been taken from him.

There was no safe place. Not when the past could so freely float in and out of her eyes, haunting her until she was a ghost herself.

"It hurt," she whispered.

The breath rushed from his lungs.

"My arms… all that time, and they never let them out of those… out of those shackles. Sometimes… sometimes I just wished they'd cut me free of them, even if… even if it meant they would do something worse to me. Even then, if only they would let my hands loose."

He didn't know what to do, what to say. But she didn't seem to need his guidance. It was like she wasn't even speaking to him, until her head suddenly snapped up, and she met his gaze with a sort of disbelief resonating there. Almost like she didn't even believe she was saying it herself.

"I couldn't fight. And… if they had freed me… if they had let me out of those shackles… I don't think I even could have."

Silence. He shifted closer, his hand soft or twitching towards her but then settling at his side. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

Finally, she filled the empty space as she spoke once more.

"I'm not who I used to be, Booth." He could only stare at her, trying to convey his hurt and his love for her in only his gaze but knowing it probably wasn't enough. He wished there were words, but they all seemed to be used up. His well had run dry, and he was out of possibilities. "You don't have to do this anymore. Bones…" she shook her head. "Bones isn't coming back."

And finally, he was propelled into action.

For some reason, his body decided that now was the time to seize her in an embrace. He didn't understand it; wasn't even capable of thinking it through. But the next second, she was in his arms, and he was holding her so tightly to him that he wondered if he could ever make himself let go.

She had gasped, at first, but then she relaxed and clasped her arms around him just as fiercely.

They were both trembling with the threat of sobs, with the agony of it all weighing down.

He held on tight because it was all he could do. It was the only way he could possibly show her…

"You _are_ Bones," he choked out, his breath catching in the strands of her hair that his face was buried in. But he knew she could hear him. "You are Bones, and… and I'm not giving up on you. You hear me? I'm not giving up, Bones." He squeezed her more tightly to him. "God, never…"

She shook with the waves as the weight rolled from her shoulders to shatter at the floor.

They'd pick it up together, later. They'd gather up the world and try to glue it all together, try to make sense of the pieces that didn't fit.

For now, he was content with the illusion that he never _had_ to let go. Not if he didn't want to.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The nightmares got worse, not better. She was not getting better; she was simply becoming more skilled at hiding the truth of things from her friends. It became instinctive, after a while. The lie. And she could see the hope in their eyes when they looked at her. She could see that they were expecting things to keep improving.

They weren't, despite all appearances that said otherwise. They really, and truly, were only starting to hurt more and more with each passing day.

Her sleep was interrupted and sporadic. She no longer fought the nightmares. She let them roll through her, one after the other, and then she battled for her life in the aftermath. She could not stop them from coming, but she could try to stop them from ruining her waking hours.

Being at home all the time was a blessing as well as a curse. Her hours with Nick were joyous, but at the same time there were overtones of loneliness and despair. There were reminders, everywhere, of the things she had done wrong. The things she had failed at.

The pictures of houses that hung over her computer mocked her whenever she glanced at them. Those homes were long ago sold, and she knew it. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to take them down.

It was getting easier to speak to Booth, though. That was the only thing. Talking to him… was cathartic, in a way. She hated the pain that the words put him through, but the relief and the hope in his eyes were her welcome reward when the quiet settled again and he saw that she was trying.

She was trying so hard, even when it felt like the world was collapsing around her.

Booth wanted her, regardless of how she had changed. He still felt the same way he had for her at the start, despite all the agony of the last weeks and the strain that had come between them. She was not making it easy for him. She was not opening the doors widely enough to allow a relationship to filter through.

He was trying, though. And he was waiting. Always waiting.

She found that she was waiting, too. Waiting for a day when the ache stopped. Waiting for a day when the nightmares cut out and she could start to forget the details of her time in that basement. It would never go away; not fully. She wasn't foolish enough to hope for that. She would never get rid of it entirely, because it had happened. It had infiltrated her very being.

It would fade, though, like old photographs, and she would be able to focus again. Be able to function in everyday life, and be able to find that happiness that she wanted, without the shadows creeping at the corners of her every thought.

The hearing was tomorrow, on August fourteenth.

She was going, because she needed to. She had to see what happened, for her own eyes. She had to be prepared when the verdict came down. No matter the reassurances of her friends, of Caroline Julian, she couldn't shake the feeling that hung over her at the very thought of what the next day would bring.

There was always a chance. Always a possibility that justice would not win out. Her father had gotten off after all, and he was as guilty as any murderer out there. There were others, too, and she knew that. She knew it was a very real possibility.

Tomorrow, the brothers who had drugged and kidnapped her, bound and tortured her, buried her in a casket… they could be walking out of the courtroom and into the sunlight that they most certainly did not deserve.

It could happen.

And it terrified her.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

He sat on the courthouse steps, after it was over. The news vans were packing up, down by the sidewalk. He watched as a pretty blonde talked animatedly to her cameraman, pointing to the back of the truck and taking care of the tripod herself while he disassembled the rest of the equipment.

She looked almost like Hannah.

Kevin and Joel had not been offered bail.

He allowed himself one small smile of victory, but it faded fast. Bones hadn't spoken since the hearing began. She had sat stiffly beside him, focused solely on the events that were taking place at the front of the room. And then, stoically, she had merely nodded when the decision was made and finalized.

Then she had disappeared to the bathroom.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It did not feel better. Having them locked up until the trial… it didn't make any of it go away, as she had been secretly wishing with a sort of desperation. It had been one of her last hopes; that this might heal her somewhat. That, knowing they were going to be safely behind bars for the next few months, would make some of the pain go away.

The flashback hit her before she was even through the door, and she found the bathroom just before her vision began to blur. She didn't even shut the stall door behind her as she collapsed and heaved over the toilet bowl.

Her small breakfast emptied itself from her stomach, and even that didn't seem like enough. The agony was racing through her like the knife wounds that had long ago healed. She could still see the scars, though, still feel each slice as it was made. She could still hear the screams that had sounded so far away when really they were ripping themselves loose from her own throat over and over again.

It wasn't fair. She wanted it to be over… she wanted this decision to have ended some of it. There was supposed to be a satisfaction. There was supposed to be a weight lifted when her fears of their release had subsided.

Instead, she felt more numb than ever. She felt like she couldn't even get herself to her feet if she wanted to.

She stayed in the bathroom for a long time, eventually forcing herself to her feet and reminding herself of where she was, and when. She stood over a sink; stared at her reflection. Focused on the darkness behind her steely gaze. She stared herself down until she found she could not look away. Could not break the contact.

A few other women came and went. Some of them gave her a concerned look, others just passed by as though she was not there.

She didn't care. It didn't matter.

Her reflection was that of a ghost.

When she left, she was sure that the bustle would have died down. The reporters would be gone, Booth and her friends would have gone home, and she would be by herself. She could take a cab back to her house, relieve Daisy from babysitting Nicholas, and occupy herself with making a very satisfying dinner for just the two of them.

But instead, she found some reporters still gathered in the main hallway, and more just outside. They were handling other cases, she knew, reporting on the other events of the day. But she wasn't out of it. She knew that this case, _her_ case, was the top news of the evening.

Booth tried to hide the headlines from her. She knew what he was doing when he guided her away from the newsstands or distracted her when they passed by someone holding a paper with the large words 'Justice For Temperance Brennan?' emblazoned across it.

She saw it, though, and she watched it on her television after Nick had gone to sleep for the night. She sat with her legs tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them, and she listened to every word they had to say about her.

The public was rallying behind her, at least. There was no negative twist, only a wide scale level of shock and sympathy. Her publisher had called, weeks ago, to first express her condolences, and then inform her that sales were up and her fan-base was pouring in with letters and emails.

She didn't read any of it, but she appreciated the thought.

"Dr. Brennan!" a voice called, and she cringed, expecting a reporter. She was only a few steps down, and the voice was high and female. But the woman who approached was young and brunette, wearing a striped, quarter-length sleeved stop and capris. She held no microphone and no notepad. Her brown eyes were wide, and she hurried to catch up even as Brennan kept moving swiftly down the steps.

A moment later, the younger woman fell into step beside her, out of breath but eager.

"Dr. Brennan… I'm Lyla. Lyla Wheeler."

Brennan blinked, slowing to a stop, and then her own eyes went wide.

"You're…"

"I'm Veronica's sister," Lyla filled in, nodding quickly. "I was just… wondering if you would like to grab some coffee with me?"

Brennan's mouth opened and closed before she finally nodded. "I'd love to."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Booth stood as he saw her come through the doors. She was paler than he'd like, but she was walking normally and there was no sign that she'd been crying or anything like that. He supposed that was probably a good sign, but he wanted to talk to her and confirm for himself that she was okay. Even though he was sure she probably wasn't, and that she would probably lie to him about it in an attempt to make him feel better.

He heard a woman's voice calling her name, though, and he stiffened at once, expecting a reporter. But none of the scavengers seemed to have noticed her quiet arrival as she started to move down the stairs. The woman who caught up with her looked familiar, and it only took him a moment to remember why.

Veronica Wheeler's sister.

From a distance, he watched them speak to one another. Brennan nodded, and the two walked off together, taking a wide arch to avoid the reporters. He stayed in place, watching them go.

A small smile played across his lips.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was a tiny coffee shop across from the courthouse that they settled into. The booth looked out on the steps across the street, and she could see the bustle as it gradually died down in the next half hour. Every now and then, a flow of well-dressed men and women would erupt from the doors, but there was no rush of reporters for them. Just a simple disembarking as they all separated to their cars and cabs. Rushing away.

She smiled at the photograph as Lyla pulled it from her wallet and passed it across to her. They were teenagers in the picture, and it was obvious they were sisters. They had matching smiles, and the same flowing brown hair. Brennan could even see herself a little, in them. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

The connection had a darker meaning behind it.

"She was beautiful," Brennan murmured softly, placing the picture back on the table and sliding it to its owner. Lyla shook her head and placed a hand on the edge of the photograph, nudging it back towards her.

"Keep it," she said firmly.

Brennan swallowed, and then nodded and accepted the offer.

Neither of them knew much what to say. They both had things weighing on their minds. They both knew what they _really _wanted to discuss. But neither of them could bring themselves to broach the topic.

"You were close?" Brennan said at last, her eyes still on the image as she lifted her mug up to take another short sip of the warm liquid.

"Inseparable," Lyla answered tightly, nodding. She clasped her own mug between her hands, and Brennan watched them tremble for a moment, unsure of what to say. "It wasn't… always like that, though," she continued after a moment, though, saving Brennan the trouble. "When we were kids, we were… the fiercest of competitors. Everything was a challenge. A chance to beat each other out. I was younger by three years, but I was the one who got the better grades. The one who was always getting the awards and the special notice from my teachers. Roni… she wasn't a big fan of that. When we were younger, she was the one who got all the attention. I was the cute face, and she could deal with that, because I was supposed to be. I was the baby, after all." She laughed shortly, shaking her head. For a moment, there was silence. Brennan watched her with a sort of fascination, observing each emotion that washed across her features before she decided to speak once more.

"But after a while, she resented me for all the attention I was stealing from her. She loved her spotlight, more than anything. When we were teenagers, though, she got herself in… a lot of trouble. She was angry at me, angry with my parents… and she got in with the wrong crowd. Started dating a guy who turned out to be… a real winner, you could say. When I caught him hitting her…" she stopped there for a moment, her breaths sharp but shallow. She shook her head darkly, her eyes meeting Brennan's with a vehemence. "I nailed him in the balls. Kept kicking till he was screaming for mercy. She was only fifteen; I was only twelve. I was fast, and I was stronger than I looked. But her and I, we had an… understanding, after that. She didn't resent me, like you would think she would, for the fact that I had to save her. No, she started returning the favor. I think it was a wake-up call."

"And you became close?"

"After that, yes. She was there for me, and I was there for her. When we were both old enough to understand things better, we were the closest of friends. I have never… told anyone half the things I've told her. Even my fiancé doesn't know a good portion of my life story from those early days. Not yet, at least. She was my confidant, in every way.

"When she went missing, I… I lost a part of myself. I didn't know what to do, and for the longest time, we held out hope, up until we simply couldn't any more. My dad and I, I mean. Mom… she kept thinking it was all going to be okay. At the start, that's great. She kept us all faithful in our happy ending. But then, when reality set in… it only stung, to believe she was suffering under the delusion and we no longer were."

"May 25th," Brennan said softly.

Lyla's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and awe.

She nodded.

"You remember."

"I saw it on the news," she said in a whisper, rubbing her hands on the edges of her coffee mug to distract herself. "I… remember things like that." And she'd had a lot of time to think about it, as well.

"I knew she was dead," Lyla said softly. "I knew it, for ages. And… I guess I was just waiting. But it didn't hurt any less, when I found out for sure."

Brennan nodded. She knew the feeling. Knew it far too well.

"You made it out," Lyla continued, with a wonder-filled edge to her voice. "You made it through, and you got back. You got away from them. And you _got_ them."

Brennan swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "They should have been caught… before. They should have… never taken _either_ of us."

Lyla's eyes hardened. "No, they shouldn't have. We can't change it now, though. We can't… make it any different than it is. And… I just want you to know that Veronica… would be grateful for all that you've done. And she wanted you to get out of there, as much as she wanted to get out herself. She would be happy. To know that they didn't win, in the end."

She bit her lip, nodding.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For… for telling me that. Thank you."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

The lab was quiet, and she felt like an intruder as she stepped across the cool tile floors. Her heels echoed, and she reveled in the sound while at the same time trying not to cringe at how loud it was. Announcing her presence to anyone in the vicinity.

But it was too early for many people to be present, and she tried to look purposeful. There was a chance that anyone she happened to pass might not recognize her, and might simply think she belonged there like anyone else.

Her pass card did not work anymore, but thankfully she did not need to get to the platform or her own office. She simply needed to go to Cam's space, which was not specifically barred to her as a visitor.

Micah had let her in without much of a question. He had seemed relieved to see her, really. Offering her a hug that she hesitantly accepted. And then he clipped on a visitor pass and waved her through and into the place she had once known as her home away from home.

Not much had changed. It was the same place she remembered.

Except for the feeling that enveloped her as she crossed the wide expanse. She didn't belong anymore. She was not this person; she was not even allowed to work here, among her peers, among her beloved possessions and her well-known bones. She was too broken for that. Too broken to even brave a psych evaluation.

_Not yet_, she told herself. _Not yet_.

There was something else, now, that took prominence.

A fear, a new one, was gnawing at her. And she wanted answers. Fast, secure, trustable answers.

She felt sick to her stomach again, the nausea sweeping through her like a cutting winter breeze, as she stepped into her boss's office space.

"Dr. Saroyan?" she called cautiously.

Micah had told her that the other woman was here, but she wasn't at her desk.

"Brennan?" Cam's voice gasped from behind her, and she spun on her heel to find the coroner just stepping back in, a few files in hand and her eyebrows high on her forehead. "What are you… what are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered.

Brennan couldn't hide the sheepish look that crossed her face. "I… find myself in need of a favor," she suggested hesitantly.

"If you want to be re-instated," Cam began swiftly, stepping around her and setting the files down heavily beside her keyboard, "Then you can turn around. I still need you to see someone before I can let you back here. Unless…" her eyes widened further, and she leaned forward. "Is that what you're here about?"

She smiled nervously, tightly.

"No, Cam. That is… not why I am here."

"Oh."

There was silence, and Cam tilted her head, clearly waiting for the explanation.

Brennan took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself.

"I would like it if you would… run a blood test for me."

"For what reason?" Cam inquired at once, stepping closer and crossing her arms. Not in a menacing way, but in a worried, motherly sort of way. She wanted to know the details—her concern was immediate and overpowering.

She ran her tongue over her lips while she considered the best way to explain it. And then, finally, she realized there was really no way to go about it other than to just spit it out and be done with it.

"I think there is a chance that I might be pregnant."

**Share your thoughts. Please and thank you. **


	36. Paradise

**A/N:**** It does not become easier to write this story, as I approach the end. I feel like there is so much I want to say, so much that I need to do to make things perfect, and not enough pages to write it down in. So this is what I offer, as my... second to last chapter. Or third, if you choose to count the epilogue. I apologize for the delay on this one; it is hard to find the time and the peace in which to get the right emotions flowing through my keyboard. I hit that rhythm in this chapter, and I hope that you will enjoy it.**

**Not much longer, and I'm not ready to say goodbye. Still, there is time ahead of us. Song for this one is Paradise, by Coldplay_. _It's a beautiful emotional song that I feel has the right amount of melancholy and joy mixed together. I couldn't stop listening to it towards the end of this chapter. **_  
_

_Chapter 35: Paradise_

_When she was just a girl  
She expected the world  
But it flew away from her reach  
And the bullets catch in her teeth_

_Life goes on_  
_It gets so heavy_  
_The wheel breaks the butterfly_  
_Every tear, a waterfall_  
_In the night, the stormy night_  
_She closed her eyes_  
_In the night, the stormy night_  
_Away she flied_

_She dreamed of para- para- paradise_  
_Para- para- paradise_  
_Para- para- paradise_  
_Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh_

_August 15__th__, 2018_

The gun felt cool and warm at the same time, as she clutched it tightly between her hands. She lined up her sight, staring straight ahead with her face as blank as could be. Impassive, really. And then she pulled the trigger, and kept shooting, over and over again, vibrating with the energy of each shot as it wove through the air. Fiery motion.

The bullets tore through the paper target one after the other, and she didn't stop until the clip was empty and she found herself fighting for breath. She hadn't even realized the exertion she was offering with each tug on the trigger.

And yet, when the gun fell loosely to her side, she felt weak, light-headed. She leaned against the wall for support, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Then she hit the button and listened to the sound of the target zipping along its line towards her. She did not open her eyes for a few moments, even after she knew it had arrived and was waiting for her.

Every shot was a kill shot, of course. Every last one.

She was not pregnant.

She had never been pregnant.

And for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to understand why the rage that coursed through her now was so powerful.

There had been no planning for children. There was no reason for her to be upset. In many ways, she wasn't, honestly. There had even been a sense of relief when Cam had informed her of the results on her blood test. Being pregnant right now… would not have been a good thing. It would have been complicated, and unfair, and overwhelming.

And besides that, it wasn't even logical.

Looking back on the sudden fear that had enveloped her earlier, she wondered how she had ever let the idea permeate her thought process so thoroughly. Her only sexual encounter recently had been with Booth, shortly before her departure for New Hampshire to see her father. The results from the hospital had confirmed that. And even more so… the hospital would have told her if she were pregnant. It would have shown up on her chart.

If she had been pregnant before going into captivity, she wouldn't be now, either.

She thought of each attack, each cut, each punch, each kick, with a sort of cold separation. Focusing on the details, not her own pain, not her own trauma associated with each action.

No, any chances for that not-even-fetus would have been surely extinguished.

There was really no chance she could have been pregnant, when she had gone to Cam only hours ago.

And yet, the anger was still there.

But she was beginning to understand it.

There was every chance that she could have become pregnant after sleeping with Booth. It had not really been at the top of her list of concerns in those moments, and if it had happened… she couldn't say it would have been a bad thing.

At the time.

It seemed dark, and unfair, and horrible, thinking it, but she was so relieved. So desperately relieved that she had not gotten pregnant that night.

Because _if_ she had… then the brothers would have killed the child. Her and Booth's unborn child that was not really a child at all, not even a fetus… but still _theirs_. Science abandoned her on the topic, wiping away all her notions of reality and leaving only the raw emotions in their wake. What they said was that she would have been glad of a pregnancy, and that she would have been destroyed by its untimely end.

Booth, too, if it had occurred and he had found out.

She hated them for it. Hated them for what they had done, and what they could have done.

It turned out there were yet more ways in which they could have broken her. More than she'd even considered.

And she wondered if she'd ever be able to build up enough of herself around those barely-solid pieces that were lying so vulnerable. She wondered if she would ever be whole again, and feel safe in her own skin, safe in her own home.

She could not deny that Booth needed to be informed of this. Cam had made that clear when they had spoken, telling her that she needed to discuss this with someone, and it should be him before anyone else. Even if she wasn't pregnant… he needed to know how she felt about the thought she might have been. And she needed to tell him the truth about her captivity.

According to Cam, he needed to hear that he was the only possibility. He had never enquired about the details of her captivity, but clearly he had questions. Questions that were obvious to everyone but her.

She had not told anyone where she was going, and so she was not surprised to find five messages waiting on her phone when she finally left the shooting range.

Three were from Booth, one from Angela, and the final from her father.

She listened to each in turn, grimacing as Max requested to visit sometime soon and trying not to feel guilty when each of Booth's calls got successively more concerned. There was a large time gap between each, and she could understand his fears when she failed to respond each and every time.

He was the one she called back first.

"Bones?" he said hurriedly into her ear, and she ducked her head, slipping into her car and forcing a smile on to her face so her voice would sound at least somewhat natural.

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry I didn't pick up my phone."

"Jesus, where were you? Do you… do you realize how much I—"

"I'm sorry." She paused a second, and then decided she might as well be impulsive. Her heart was telling her to do it. Her head was even agreeing. "Can I meet you somewhere?"

He stammered a second, clearly thrown off guard by the abrupt change in topic. "I… yeah. Of course. Where?"

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was an odd hour of the day to be at the Diner, and it was mostly quiet when they found themselves sitting across from each other, picking at their respective lunches. Neither of them were actually hungry, but that hadn't stopped them from ordering.

Brennan was still going over it in her head—still trying to decide what to tell him, and how to do it. Booth was just uncomfortable in general, sensing that there was something she was going to tell him, and sensing that he might not like the subject matter. But he didn't say anything, making small talk and clearing his throat while he took large bites from his burger and repeatedly dipped the same fry into his ketchup.

The waitress that was serving them dropped by more than was necessary, double and triple checking to make sure everything was fine with them. She paid extra attention to Brennan, which both of them noticed and neither of them brought up.

They'd been going there for long enough, now, that everyone who worked there knew their faces as well as their names. It was no secret that she was Temperance Brennan. That she was the author and the anthropologist, that he was the FBI agent and the inspiration for Andy. And now, it was no secret that she had been recently kidnapped and tortured at the hands of two sociopaths for a total of four days.

She could see it in the younger woman's eyes every time she came around with that smile plastered on her face. The awe, the sympathy. The pure knowledge of the truth.

Brennan wished no one knew. She wished she had it all to herself.

Maybe then she would feel better.

Safer.

It was when the dinner crowd began to shuffle in, their voices filling the empty air and enshrouding the both of them in the cloak that she finally got the courage to speak.

The words came without bidding, and she gave up on planning out how to explain. She just blurted it out for him to figure out on his own, determined to make him understand, determined to get it out of herself and into the world. She couldn't hold it by herself anymore, just as she couldn't hold any of it. That was why she shared now, that was why each new detail fell from her lips in these past weeks.

Gradually, the weight lessened.

"They didn't rape me," she said bluntly.

And that was it, all there was to it. Or, at least, to the start of it.

He almost choked on his drink, sputtering and setting it back down. He blinked at her, his mouth open, and it was clear he had no idea what he was supposed to say in response to that.

That wasn't fair to him, and she knew it. So she spoke again.

"They could have, if they had… if they had wanted to. And… I don't doubt that they would have. Eventually. If you hadn't caught them before they came back to dig me up. If they had evaded you, or gotten out of questioning… I know they would have kept me for just as long as they kept Veronica Wheeler. And they would have. They would have…"

"Bones…" he choked out, cutting her off. He was shaking his head, his eyes wide. "Why… why are you telling me this now?" It was the only thing he'd been able to come up with that might make a decent response. Everything else was just unsuitable.

"Because I have realized that… it might be something you would want to know. Although I had originally believed it best to not bring it up at all, in case the… thought hadn't occurred to you."

"It had," he said abruptly, his eyes dark.

She nodded, bowing her head.

They were silent, the air around them buzzing with other people's conversations. They were light, and warm, and they seemed so very far away. Like she and Booth were trapped in a bubble, broken away from the rest of society and unsure of how to find their way home.

"Thank God," he whispered under his breath, and she looked up in surprise, to find his eyes already focused on her. "Thank _God,"_ he repeated, his head slowly shaking. There was agony, cutting across his features. But also relief, in immeasurable quantities. It was overwhelming, though, and it stole her breath away.

She nodded. What else was there to do?

And then she said softly, before the topic could be brought around to a lighter discussion, "I thought I might be pregnant, earlier this week."

He frowned, meeting her gaze seriously. This time, there was no shocked expression. Just immediate concern.

"You… aren't, though? Right?"

She swallowed. "No, I'm not. But… I wanted you to be aware that… you would be the only possibility for the father. If I was pregnant."

He was nodding slowly, as she spoke.

But he couldn't come up with words, and neither could she. It was as if they had both run out. They stared at each other for a long time, just reading the sentences that were written across the others face. And then, as the atmosphere slowly changed, as she felt the bubble start to dissipate and society start to leak in, she shifted her posture.

And then she reached across and snatched a French fry off of his plate.

He was usually the one to lighten the mood, and she had to admit it felt good to do so herself for once. He laughed at once, a cautious sound in the wake of the heavy discussion they had just waded their way through, but warm sound nonetheless. And a welcome one, for certain.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was late August, when they found themselves sitting in his living room, eating Thai food. Parker and Nick could be heard from down the hall, cheering to themselves as they battled it out in some new racing game Parker had bought himself for his gaming system. Brennan didn't keep up with the technology, but the teenager had assured her it possessed the best 3D graphics available today.

They had been discussing Booth's latest case, which had become a commonplace occurrence where at one point it would have created tension. She was still not re-instated, and so she was not allowed to work with him. But hearing about the cases… it made her feel more alive. Made her feel like she was her old self again, at least in that one respect. Booth had noticed the change, and had started bringing case files to their impromptu dinners so she could look through them.

The light in her eyes was one that hadn't been there in a long time. The warmth that spread through her system was not one she had felt in ages, either. She felt at home, in her skin. The scars were mostly healed, now. Some of them would never go away, but she had begun to accept this; had stopped noticing them in the mirror or when she bathed or changed. They were just a part of her life story now. A part that she had survived.

Battle scars, in a way.

Booth had been coming around more and more, and she had begun spending time at his place again as well. The outings with the team increased, and she caught lunch with Angela on a regular basis.

The nightmares still menaced her, night after night. But the flashbacks were mostly abolished, and she was grateful for the small miracles that that brought. It was nice, not having to worry that she might lose herself while doing even the most mundane of tasks. There was no more fear of having an episode in public; she was back in control of her life.

"I've been thinking… about going to see the shrink," she said as casually as she could, poking a chop stick into the nearly empty take-out container of noodles that she held in one hand.

His face lit up at once, and she smiled in response, relieved at the warmth of his response even though it had been expected.

"That's great, Bones! That's… that's really great. So you'll be back soon, then? We'll get to be the crime-solving duo again?"

She laughed. "I really hope so, Booth. I really do."

It was never as easy as that, though, and she knew it. The idea, in itself, was a great one. She longed for the Jeffersonian, for the familiar walls and the comfort of her office. She longed for the sanctuary that surrounded her in the hall of her knowledge as she plucked details from her vast experiences to explain the details of a case out loud. She missed the cool, smooth touch of bone beneath her fingers, and the gentle brush of her blue lab coat as she tugged it over her shoulders.

She had been away for far too long.

Getting back, though, was not a road she was sure she could traverse.

Psychology was her least favorite branch of science. In all honesty, it was not a science at all. And it had never helped her in the past. All those court-mandated sessions she had attended as a teenager… they hadn't done her any good. She had hated just about every counselor and shrink she had been sent to, with their odd-smelling offices and their quiet voices.

They reeked of pity, and they said all the right things to get their patients to open up.

Not once had it worked on her, because she saw it for what it was. She didn't need anyone poking around her in head, finding out things that weren't true, things she didn't want revealed even to herself. She'd dealt with that once, and she wasn't about to deal with it again.

Sweets… he was the only psychologist she had ever actually liked. He spoke plainly, with a sort of childlike excitement. He put up with the barbs she and Booth threw at him right from the start, and he brushed off all the negativity, so determined to help and be a part of something greater that it was hard not to like him, after some time.

If it was possible, she would gladly sit in his office for an hour a week and talk about her 'issues,' so she could get back to her job.

But it didn't work like that. She would be assigned to someone she'd never met before, someone objective, someone who was not her friend. And they would get to know her through the trauma she had just suffered.

She wasn't very good at the subject, but it seemed to her that Sweets would be the more reasonable choice from the start. He already knew her, and he knew how she handled things. He understood how she operated, and he knew how to talk to her plainly and where the limits were.

It would eliminate a lot of the 'getting to know you' crap that came with a new doctor.

Sweets himself, though, had reminded her that he could not be the one placed in charge of the evaluation.

He did know someone, though, who would be a good option. She wasn't sure how much she liked the idea, but she trusted Sweets decision over that of anyone else in the field. She would get the number from him later this week, and place the call.

It wasn't like with the houses, either. No, this was something she was going to do. It wouldn't be easy, but she would do it.

The house pictures were gone, too. All of them had been taken down and thrown away. In their place she had hung a single image. A picture of her current home. Motivation, to change that, was what she needed more than anything.

But the latest places she had found online had not interested her. They had all seemed wrong, in some way or another, and she had found herself clicking aimlessly through each listing, expecting to see something that caught her eye on each fresh page but ultimately remaining in a constant state of disappointment.

Maybe it really would be better if she got back to work before she focused on the task of house shopping. It seemed the less challenging of the two, when the doctor would be provided and all she needed to do was show up and endure whatever hell they had planned for her.

She put down the take-out container, and leaned back on the couch.

While she was at it, perhaps she would drop by her gym later this week as well. See about getting herself back into her martial arts classes. That was something else she had missed, and it was certainly something that would be helpful in her recovery. Exercise was something that always cleared her head, and in the past week she had been going for morning runs. A good start, but the physical challenge of one-on-one sounded far more appealing. And it would be a chance. An opportunity to prove to herself that she was still capable of handling whatever was thrown at her. A few scars would not keep her from disabling and defeating anyone that came in her path.

_Unless_, a small voice said in the back of her head, _they've got drugs in a needle and they don't even give you the chance_.

She pushed away the thought, and smiled at Booth when he looked her way. He smiled back, and his hand slid closer to hers until she closed the gap and twined their fingers together.

More of a common occurrence than it had ever been, she wasn't sure what it meant for them. She wasn't sure if they were even going anywhere, or if they were still treading water at this point.

What she did know, was that they were no longer moving backwards.

And that was all she felt she really needed to know, at this point.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"I'm still not sure," Brennan murmured, glancing around the spacious foyer. Booth crossed his arms, a knowing smile on his face.

"You love it," he said, leaving no room for debate. "And so you're determined to find something wrong with it."

She scowled. "Fine. Maybe. But… I still can't make a decision."

"Then let me make it for you. Buy the house, Temperance."

The use of her first name was partly humor, partly seriousness. He gave her a pointed look, his eyebrows drawn together and his smile just barely visible. He knew he had her, though, and his look slowly morphed to that of triumph before he let out a loud laugh.

The realtor, a woman in a smart black skirt and button-up white blouse named Penny Rodriguez, turned around with a look that could only be described as relief on her face. "Have you made up your mind, then?" she called, her heels clicking as she crossed the distance and stopped a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked between the two of them.

"This one," Brennan said at last, nodding.

It was their fifth visit, and she had suspected she would be coming back from the time she had walked out the door after the first. There was something about the place that was entrancing. The ceiling was high, in the foyer, and the walls had an artistic flair to them, with thick beams—not wooden, and certainly not ugly—that crisscrossed and wove. It was almost like a sculpture, and the archways between the rooms were high and gorgeous, with distinctive decorative marks at the crest of each.

The walls were green, in this opening room, but she planned to change that. A soft yellow, she thought, would look lovely with the mahogany trim and the off-white tiles. A rug, too, would add some color and some warmth.

The other rooms didn't need much help. The living room was spacious and high-ceilinged. The beams that crossed it were wooden, but it wasn't rustic as she might have expected. It was warm, and it gave off a feeling that she couldn't quite describe. A bit like home—she remembered now that her bedroom had had slanted ceilings, with wooden beams running overhead. She used to count them to fall asleep.

The kitchen was large, with a cozy breakfast nook and a long counter edge lined with bar stools. The appliances were all mostly new, and the shiny front of the refrigerator gleamed. The countertops were black marble, and the walls were wallpapered with blue and white vertical stripes. That would be another change she planned to make, and probably the only thing in the house that made her cringe.

Nick's bedroom was larger than the one he currently had, but it was also of a different shape. It was sort of like an 'L,' and in her head she could already see where they could fit the bed, and how the corner would be a nice place to put a bookshelf and a comfortable chair of some sort.

Her own master bedroom was longer in one direction that the other—a long rectangle. There was space for her bed at one end, near the door to the master bathroom and the walk-in closet, and at the other end she could even put a couch and a bookcase for herself. Right in front of the fireplace.

It wasn't the only one in the house, either. There was one in the living room as well, and she could already picture it crackling merrily in the corner during the cold winter months.

What she found she loved the most, however, was not any of these details.

Light. The place itself seemed to glow with it, with high windows covering walls and skylights pouring the rays down in abundance onto each room in turn. It was like her own personal kingdom, with its warmth shining around her from every angle.

Things like this, of course, did not come cheap. This was the sort of place that was ready to be lived in, with only minor aesthetic changes. There would be no maintenance; this was not a fixer-upper. The price-tag had almost knocked the breath out of her when she had first seen it, but it wasn't like she was unable to afford it. She had another book in the works, and her bank account was already looking cheerfully plump from the years behind her.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she had come into a large sum of money recently.

James had failed to alter his will before his death, probably because he hadn't thought it would be necessary. What with his plan to have her killed and all. Now, though, it left her with the bulk of both of their fortunes at her disposal.

It only seemed proper that she put it to good use.

She signed the paperwork that was pushed at her, nodding and smiling to all the things Penny had to say, and then she finally mentioned that she would like to spend a bit more time in the home for today and the other woman nodded and stepped away, making a phone call.

She turned to Booth, and he smiled and nodded approvingly.

But a moment later he leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in her ear: "Angela's going to have a field day."

And she had to laugh. Because it was so true.

She wove his fingers through her own, and leaned back into his shoulder. Just a light touch, because there was no definition and there had been no discussion. But they were both aware that they were heading somewhere. And they were both content to let the journey take its course, and let the road make its own decision for them. They were confident that they were being led the way they were supposed to be, and they were going to come out in the same place, together, no matter what happened between now and then, or how long it took.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Their first date was really not a date at all. It was an average evening—or at least that had been the original plan.

They were just going out to pick up some Chinese for dinner, and Nick was at Daisy's nearing the end of his play-date with Taylor.

She had gone to her first therapy appointment the day before, and it had been an unwelcome addition to the long week they had spent during the move-in process. The house was hers, now, and tonight would be the first night she spent there. Tomorrow would be the first day she lived in it; the start of the first week and the first month and the first year. The start of the rest of her life.

But the therapy had not been nearly as terrible as she had been expected. Dr. Rachel Fairing was a calm woman, with small glasses perched on her nose. She smiled a lot, and she had two perfect rows of shiny white teeth. Her nose was slightly crooked, and her blonde hair was cut in a bob that bounced up and down whenever she nodded.

There was a lot to see in her eyes, though, and it was obvious she wasn't as relaxed as she appeared to be at first. She had a haunted-ness about her. A darkness in her eyes that did not belong. She had seen things, heard things, experienced things that put her on a level that Brennan had not been expecting. They were more of equals than she would have imagined.

They did not spend the session discussing what had happened to her in captivity. She had been expecting this, but she had not been expecting how easy it would be. She had been expecting to know the doctor's every move, to predict where each conversation would lead, and to understand that each one was merely a tactic to get her to open up. If it was not direct and focused, then it was some sort of trust groundwork that was supposed to make her talk more openly at a later date.

She did not feel tricked, though, at the end of their session. She was reserved, still, and unsure if she believed in this or even if it was going to help her… but she felt like there was something more to it than she had originally thought. She would be okay coming back, even if she wasn't necessarily going to be looking forward to it.

But she could handle it, and she was ready. Ready to get it over with, ready to do anything she needed to do, and ready to get back to her job and her life.

The Chinese food was an escape from any and all of it. A way to connect back with the future she was heading towards, and back away from the past she was still outrunning. It would be her and Booth and Nick, the way she had wanted it to be for a while now. Surprisingly, it didn't happen as often as she had been expecting. Booth came by later, in general, when he got out of work. They watched movies or got ice cream, but there was rarely a sit down meal with all three of them.

So tonight would be a night of multiple firsts.

She loved the house. Angela and Jack had volunteered to help them paint, and by the time the day had arrived the entire team had gotten in on it, making it a group activity of sorts. They had spent the day laughing and sharing stories while they coated the walls in the new colors that Angela had helped her select. The plastic crinkled underfoot, and the paint smell permeated the air around them and soaked into their clothing, but none of them cared. When it was over, they were stained and tired, but grinning. They'd gone out for a group dinner, picking up the kids and taking them along, and the whole night had brought back waves of emotion connected to these people and what they all meant to her.

They were a family, and it was at times like this when she could see it so clearly it was hard to believe it had ever been otherwise.

Angela had wanted to throw a housewarming party as well, but Brennan had assured her that it was not necessary. She saw everyone regularly enough, and the painting session had been enough of a house-warming in itself. They had made her house into what it was now; that was the greatest gift they could have offered her.

She would organize her own sort of get-together eventually, however, once she was comfortable with the new layout and familiar with where she had put all of her belongings. A small gathering in her kitchen, perhaps, with a nice home-cooked meal.

It was this that she was thinking about when they left the Chinese restaurant that they frequented, both of them carrying bags of steaming food. The smell was intoxicating, and as they climbed into the SUV she couldn't help but unfurl the top of the one she was holding to peer inside at the containers.

"Hey, no getting a head start on me, there, Bones," he warned, his tone warm with amusement.

She gave him a playful glare. "I'm checking to makes sure we got everything we ordered, Booth," she informed him matter-of-factly. And then, when he turned towards the wheel, shaking his head and grinning, she pulled out a long strand of Lo Mein and popped it in her mouth.

"I saw that."

"Saw what?"

He gave her an incredulous look, his eyes shining with laughter, and then he turned towards the road and focused there.

She ate another noodle.

"Will you stop doing that? You're taunting me over here… and that smells really good."

"Would you like some, then?"

He gave a soft snort. "I'm driving, Bones, in case you forgot. And unlike _someone_, I can wait until we get home."

She gave him a shove on his shoulder, laughing. "I can wait. I just choose _not_ to. It's your loss, regardless."

"Hmph."

They were silent for a long moment.

Right up until she pulled out a noodle and reached over to dangle it in front of his face.

"Bo-ones," he complained, drawing out her name but grinning nonetheless.

He snatched it from her grip with a light pluck, and then dropped it from above into his mouth, chewing and making an approving sound from the back of his throat.

"Better than usual," he noted, smiling and turning to look at her.

She nodded. "Yes, I agree. And they gave us a larger portion than normal, as well. I think they're starting to consider us as regular customers."

"Probably. Maybe we should take it as a sign that we get take-out too often."

"I can fix that."

"Really, now?"

"Yes, I can. How about macaroni and cheese for dinner tomorrow?"

His mouth fell open, and he gave her a look that said 'are you serious?'

"I love you," he said simply. They both knew, at once, that it was not a _thank you_ sort of I love you statement. It wasn't a phrase said in the excitement of the moment. It was raw, and honest. It was a reflection of his feelings, brought out into the open not because of his great enjoyment of the food, but because of the eager way in which she volunteered to make it for him because she knew how much it _meant_ to him.

And he needed her to understand how much _she_ meant to him.

Her eyes connected with his for a second before he glanced back at the road, and she saw the full truth there, in his dark gaze.

"I love you, too," she echoed firmly.

He nodded, and then a grin broke out across his face as though there was no way he could fight it down.

Nothing else was said. Nothing else needed to be.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She made him mac n' cheese just as she had promised, and she made it better than she had ever made it before. In ways, it was more of a family meal than the night before. They cooked it together, although she did most of the work. Nick even tried to help, in his own way. Mostly he got underfoot, but they were all so caught up in the fun and the laughter that it wasn't frustrating—it was simply another layer. Cute, really, how he looked up at the both of them with wide eyes and begged for a task to do.

Brennan ultimately put him to work as their table-setter and scrubber, and he rushed around with a dishcloth, brushing the crumbs off of the counters. They wound up on the floor, but Brennan was unfazed. He was eager to help, and he was proud of himself, and she wasn't about to correct him of that view.

She made it just the way Booth liked, with the breadcrumbs and extra cheese on top, adding a thick crust that made him grin from the moment it went in the oven up until a good ten minutes after he had put his fork down and leaned back in his chair to pat his stomach in an over exaggerated manner.

Parker came by in the aftermath, gladly accepting the leftovers that he was offered.

The thought came spontaneously, and she spoke as such.

"Parker, would you mind watching Nick for an hour or two?"

Booth frowned, tipping his head to the side questioningly, but she did not break eye contact with the teenager.

"Yeah, sure. No problem," Parker agreed with a shrug. He smiled at the younger boy, who was all smiles. He was going to get to stay up past his bedtime, and he knew it.

She nodded to Booth, indicating that they should go out the door, and, still frowning, he went with it. They stepped out of the house and onto the lit cobblestone pathway that led in a soft zigzag across the yard to where it connected to the brick driveway.

"Where are we going?" Booth asked curiously.

She said nothing, though, just smiling a thoughtful sort of smile and reaching down to slip her hand into his and weave their fingers together. He gave a soft squeeze, and she responded in turn, leading the way to the street and then across it.

"Bones?" he queried, but it was with less insistence and more confusion.

She shook her head, giving him a raised eyebrow look of warning that said she wasn't going to tell him, and so he might as well give it up. They walked for a while in the quiet night-time silence, listening the rustling of the leaves overhead in the soft summer breeze, and taking in the deep black of the star-filled sky overhead. Not a cloud in sight. No worrying weather sitting on the horizon ahead of them.

They came to the small park that had been influential in her decision to move to this neighborhood. It had a few sets of swings and a seesaw, and there was a purple dinosaur shaped toy on a spring with handles sticking out on either side of its neck. Nick had already developed an attachment to it.

They settled onto a bench that looked across the abandoned space. The area was meant for families, but there was a divide; a space for relaxation and observation, here on these benches. A separation from the world. There was a gap in the trees that allowed for a wider view of the night sky, while it still blocked off the road. Every now and then, a pair of headlights flickered in between the trees. But it was gone the next instant, and the darkness returned.

It was not a bad darkness. It did not loom, did not suck her under. There was no fear in her heart, her hand clutched in Booth's and the crickets chirping in a soothing symphony.

"I love you," she said suddenly, turning to look at him inquisitively. His eyes widened, but he was smiling.

"I love you, too," he responded, tilting his head to the side again. They both already knew this, and he could tell there was something else she was getting at here, something related that she wasn't bringing up directly.

But she planned to.

Another moment, and she looked down at their interwoven fingers, the smile on her lips twitching and her eyes soft and warm like his. He was so much like Jasper; the warmth in those eyes was an honesty that could not be denied. It said everything, without the need for words.

Or maybe it was Jasper that was like him.

Either way, she could see him as clearly as she could see the swings in front of them waving in the breeze.

Angela's first date with Hodgins had been at a playground, she remembered offhandedly.

She wasn't sure if this counted or not, but she suddenly didn't care. They didn't need a definition. They just needed to be… them.

"I want you to move in with me," she stated boldly. At this, his smile faltered. He looked unsure, questioning, and he clutched her hand with a sudden sharpness.

"Bones…" he said softly, dipping his head to look upwards at her, seriousness lining his forehead in the wrinkles that suddenly seemed so much deeper.

She raised her head, meeting his stare with a steady intensity. She was not kidding around; she was serious about this. She wanted it. She wanted him, and she wanted there to be so much more between them. She wanted there to be everything. And she was ready for it; ready to answer any questions he might have. And she was sure he had more than a few, especially when it came to her captivity and those weeks of aftermath in which she had boxed herself up and kept everything from him and the others. But especially from him.

"You really mean it?" he asked, but she knew that he already knew the answer.

She nodded simply, raising an eyebrow. It was open for him, now. He was the one who got to make the call here. Whichever way it went, she would be fine with it. That was another thing she had learned from him. She didn't _care_ how they got to where they were going. She just cared that she got to be there, with him, along the journey. There didn't even have to be an ending, so long as their hands could remain bound together like this. So long as she could feel him with her, and hear his heartbeat as though it were her own.

There was no other option. Losing him… was simply _not_ a feasible possibility.

It never had been.

He leaned closer, and she met his lips with a passion, reading her yes in the movement of his body against hers and the way his hands slid around to weave through her hair and cup along the curve of her neck. There was a slight stubble on his chin that brushed along her cool skin, and she breathed him in with a soft gasp as they broke apart for the briefest of seconds, before she fell forward again like he was her gravity and the world itself had simply ceased to exist.

His hands fell lower, landing on the small of her back, which had truly always been his. But now it was his in more ways, and the _rightness_ of that stunned her even as she was caught breathless by the sudden brush of his tongue against hers and the slide of it along her teeth.

She pushed back, wrapping her arms more securely around his shoulders and turning so they faced each other on the bench. She barely noticed that it was uncomfortable. Barely cared that they probably looked like a couple of horny teenagers.

They were a world away from reality. Perceptions meant nothing. Feeling was everything.

Emotion ran rampant.

When his hands slid up under the fabric of her blouse, though, and touched the smooth skin of back, they found the scars that she had known they would.

And at once, she was the one whose lips were moving as his ceased. He did not pull back, simply began to decline in his involvement. A finger traced the crescent line of a knife-mark that she knew was pale and shiny where the skin had pulled tight. Where the stitches had once been but no longer were.

The marks were some of the ones which would not fade.

And there were more of them.

She stopped moving her lips, pulling back and sliding her hands up so they no longer wrapped around him, but merely rested on his shoulders with a gentle pressure.

Her eyes met his darkly, and the agony in his was strong. Intoxicating, and not in a good way. Overwhelming, overflowing. It bore down on them.

"There are more," she told him honestly, tipping her head and challenging him with her gaze. It was a simple truth. A truth that could not be denied, because it simply was. It had happened. The evidence could fade.

The truth could not.

He nodded with a sort of numbness. His hand still lay alongside the scar. His finger still touched the edge of the crescent marking.

She saw him swallow; watched the bob in his throat and the way he glanced away for a second while he gathered his thoughts before speaking.

"I know, Bones," he murmured. "God… I know."

She smiled. A sad smile. And then she shook her head in a hopeless sort of way.

"I wish…" he started, but then broke off and bowed his head. She took her hands off his shoulders, gently pried his arms away from her and around so that they were both loose, in between their bodies. She clutched both of his in hers, their fingers not weaving together, but still clutching at one another. Unconscious lifelines.

"So do I," she said softly.

And then she leaned forward to kiss him again. It was tender, tentative, and he responded slowly at first, and then more passionately. Their hands slid across each others skin, slipping back into their former places. They filled the warm imprints they had left, and she sighed into the warmth.

His finger traced over the scar again, but this time he kissed her only more firmly, pouring his love and devotion into the action as his hand stroked over the thick scar and the lines that surrounded it. He weaved his own stitches, his own healing medicine.

He tried to erase what could not be erased.

And she felt that it might have begun to work.

**I apologize for the misconception about the pregnancy. I know it was totally set up to give the impression she really was pregnant... but she isn't. (And for those of you who might still be confused... Brennan was never sexually assaulted while in captivity.) **

** Anyways, thanks as always for reading. Please, please leave me a comment letting me know what you thought. I feel like I need some cheering up after each of these chapters... I still can't quite grasp that it is all coming to a close. Not sure I can let go, haha... so it would be nice to know that you are all still here with me, heading through the final legs of our journey.**


	37. Epilogue: Say All I Need

**A/N: So I know that when you came here, you were not expecting to find an ending. I wasn't either, honestly, but one of the best parts of writing, I think, is the surprises that you come upon along the way. Yes, this is the conclusion to In the Worst of Times. It's been a journey.**

**The final song that I chose to close off this adventure was not one that I originally planned on using. Not at all. So, like the chapter itself, it sneaked up on me and took control. It is called Say (All I Need) and it is by OneRepublic. The tone, not the words, are what really resonated with me here. So interpret the lyrics as you like, but I strongly suggest listening to it. This is the sort of music I wanted to let the curtains slide shut to. I will never hear this song the same way again.**

**Thank you, as always, for being here. For reading. I hope you will enjoy.**_  
_

_Epilogue: Say (All I Need)_

_Do you know where your heart is?  
Do you think you can find it?  
Or did you trade it for something  
Somewhere better just to have it?  
Do you know where your love is?  
Do you think that you lost it?  
You felt it so strong, but  
Nothing's turned out how you wanted_

_Well, bless my soul_  
_You're a lonely soul_  
_Cause you won't let go_  
_Of anything you hold_

_Well, all I need_  
_Is the air I breathe_  
_And a place to rest_  
_My head_

_September 25__th__, 2018_

She went to the morgue, to see for herself. To confirm what she had been told, and what every news station was reporting.

It had happened late, the night before, and she had only heard about it when she had awakened to her phone frantically buzzing on her nightstand. Booth, of course. He was at work, but she had the day off for a mandatory follow-up to her psychologist for final confirmation of her reinstatement. She had been back at the Jeffersonian for a few weeks, now, but she had not yet been allowed to work FBI cases. This would ensure that she was made a liaison once more, and that her partnership with Booth was renewed.

Sweets would be the one talking to them about the change in their relationship status and what effect it might have on their working status.

Booth had gone, when he had heard the news. He had gone to the prison, to check out the scene, to talk with the prison wardens and take statements. The bodies had been moved, but they would not be coming to the lab. There was no need for it—a city coroner would take on the task, and the bodies would stay in the morgue there. On the other side of town.

He went with her, when she said she needed to see for herself.

He understood, of course, as she had known he would, and he simply nodded at the request, offering a reassuring smile and a squeeze of her hand.

This was not the handiwork of Max, as she had initially feared. No, it was the work of human nature. The work of darkness itself, and the effect it had on the soul. The effect it had held over the two half-brothers, making them into what they were.

That was what had killed them.

The coroner pulled the sheet up, first on one and then the other. She nodded when they were revealed, and felt the hollowness clench in her stomach. Not closed, not full, but not empty, either. Undecided.

Kevin had done it, of course. Shank held to his brother's throat, grin on his face, stepping forward and dragging Joel with him as he challenged the guards with their guns trained on him. He was invincible. He was on the line between shadows and brightness, nearly invisible. He didn't believe there was anything that could stop him.

He had done it because he could, Sweets later remarked. Done it because there was the opportunity, and because he was always the one who believed he was at the top. The one in charge. The one calling the shots. He decided who lived and who died. And in that moment… he made up his mind.

A gash went at an angle across Joel's throat. A jagged cut, the skin pale in places and darkened in others. Kevin had a single gunshot wound to the chest.

They had died almost at the same time, the coroner told them.

She shook her head, sighed, and pulled the sheets back over them.

Brennan leaned back into Booth, and he placed an arm around her back, his hand landing on her upper arm and rubbing gently.

She didn't feel the joy that she would have expected to come with the moment. She hated them. Hated them more than anything in the world. And yet, she could not find an ounce of happiness in the cold bodies in front of her. It frustrated her.

There was relief, in small measure. Relief in knowing that they could never hurt her again.

But somehow, she knew that didn't matter. They would not have hurt her again regardless. They were in prison.

A part of her even hated them more, now. For getting off so easily. For never facing the charges, for never giving her the chance to hear _guilty_ called out in that courtroom. She knew they were guilty. Everyone knew they were guilty.

But that closure was never coming. Not anymore.

She found nothing in the corpses. Nothing but the sad truth of knowing the deepness of human evil, and how it could still live on, regardless of the emptiness of the bodies it had inhabited.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Are you okay?" Booth asked her softly, reaching out to touch a hand lightly to her arm and get her attention. She looked up from her anthropology journal with a frown already in place.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "You've been… quieter. These past few days. Since we got the news about the brothers…"

She shrugged, and he trailed off, still watching her inquisitively. Looking for any signs hidden in her expression. She kept her face a careful mask, flipping the page in her journal and scanning it for any articles that caught her attention. There was one that must have looked promising, because she folded down the page corner into a precise dog-ear.

"Bones," he said pointedly, giving her an earnest, demanding sort of stare. She sighed and closed the journal, tossing it lightly onto the coffee table.

"I thought…" she started hesitantly, clearly not used to the concept of sharing her thoughts outright, at only the slightest urging. It was a concept she was adjusting to; one they were working on between the two of them. "I thought I would feel… differently. About their deaths. When I thought about it, before, about how much I would… like them to be dead instead of in prison, I thought I would be happier about it."

"And you aren't?" That would certainly explain the silences, and the faraway stares he had caught on her face. He would have thought she would have been glad, too. He was glad. They were good people, usually… but there was something in them that _had_ to be happy over this small tragedy. If one could even refer to it as _tragedy_.

Death was supposed to always be a tragedy. It was part of the philosophy they lived off of. But these deaths? No, these deaths simply did not fall into the category.

Clearly, Bones was having other thoughts, and he wanted to understand how they fit into this jigsaw of emotions they were working through.

"No, I'm not," she said, giving a slight huff of irritation and folding her legs up underneath her. She turned her head slightly, watching his reaction. Looking for guidance on this. She wanted an explanation. She wanted reasoning, and advice, and she wanted it fixed. She wanted to feel what he felt; she wanted the relief and the loss of weight. She wanted the joy, regardless of the guilt that might tag along with it.

"It's okay, Bones," he said cautiously. "I mean… of course you wanted them dead. I wanted them dead, for… for what they did to you. And now they are, and… sometimes that doesn't make it any better. I think that someday it will, though. When you look back on it."

She nodded slowly, thinking over his words.

"I hope so," she said at last. "But… I can't help but wondering what it was all for. They were… _horrible_ people. And now they're dead because of it. The only thing they did was hurt people. Their whole lives… it was all they ever wanted to do. I know that we see it a lot, in our line of work. I _have_ seen it a lot. Far too often. But this time…" she shook her head. "I just don't understand."

"They were crazy," he murmured calmly. "There really isn't anything more to it. And they… _never_ should have been able to do what they did."

She sighed and looked away. "No, they shouldn't have."

They both looked up as they heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs. Nick's head poked around the corner and he stared at them with those wide eyes of his.

"Something wrong, Nicky?" Brennan asked, leaning forward.

"Can I have a glass of water?" he asked. He was still sleepy-eyed, and it was obvious he had just awoken for some unexplained reason. She hoped it wasn't because he had heard the murmur of their voices through the walls.

"Sure, bud," Booth said, getting to his feet and smiling as he passed the boy and motioned for him to follow along to the kitchen. Brennan smiled after them, the sadness not quite gone from her eyes. There was a lot still weighing on her. Less weight, for sure, but weight nonetheless.

Seeing Booth and her son, though, always rejuvenated a part of her. Warmed her heart, and spread the hope through her veins. They were together; not just the two of them, but the three of them. Four if they counted Parker, who spent most nights with Clara in her new apartment now anyways. He had moved with Booth at Brennan's insistence, but it was clear he was ready for his own space and had just now come to that realization.

Booth returned with Nick in tow, the blue plastic cup of water clutched in his tiny hands.

"Goodnight," Brennan called. "Love you."

"'Night," Nick echoed. "Love you, too."

He looked at her as he said it, but his eyes drifted towards Booth. Undecided, but considering.

Then he scurried back up the stairs and out of sight. She listened until she heard the springs of his mattress squeak, and then she turned to Booth, who still stood by the staircase. He came back into the living room and reclaimed his space on the couch, placing a hand on top of hers.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It was a warm October morning, when Booth and Brennan walked through the cemetery, hand in hand, behind the procession. Lyla Wheeler was visible close to the head of the line, weaving along in her black dress.

Brennan had offered to fund the funeral, but Lyla had refused. A matter of family pride, she had said. But she had been grateful for the offer, as well. They had shared a few more coffees together, talking about other things. Trying not to focus on the sadness of their meeting, but on the prospects that it presented. The sort of things that Veronica would have wanted. The sort of things they both deserved, in the aftermath of it all.

Ghosts moved with the wind as the autumn leaves rustled around them, curving through the air and crinkling underfoot, and she couldn't help but be reminded of all the times she had been here in the past. All the murder victims she had helped find peace in their resting, all the murderers she had put behind bars for the crimes that had put these people here to begin with. There was a peace to the place, rather than a haunted-ness. The world seemed still, save for the wind, and there was a hush that had fallen as if a cloak had been draped about them to muffle the world outside of this place. Quieting the rush of the city and the urgency of the tasks and chores that were piling up back home.

Nick tagged along behind, not quite understanding of the situation, but rather trudging and kicking up the leaves every now and then. He kept a grip on Brennan's hand, his tiny fingers wrapped around only two of hers, and his head was at a constant tilted angle as he seemed to be taking in the details.

He would remember this; she was almost certain of it. It was the sort of day that would stick in a four-year-old's memory—the quiet of the adults, the unspoken rule that speaking here was forbidden, the presence of something else that was beyond him. She did not quite believe in it, and she did not plan to teach him to believe in it if he did not take an interest, but it was a feeling. A feeling of the thoughts that had been carried along this same path many times before. A weight that had been left by those before, falling from their shoulders with the grief and finally paving itself into the ground and the stones of the kingdom of the lost.

But not forgotten. No, the weight was picked up by every soul to pass through, and placed back down in their wake. It was like traveling through a tunnel and supporting each beam as it was passed. Sharing the load, holding up the world, maintaining the safety of all.

The place sent shivers down her spine, but not enough to bother her as much as it bothered Booth. She had not been aware when they had pulled her out. She had no recollection of the cemetery they had rescued her from. He, on the other hand, was tense with more than just the natural displeasure of a graveyard and the task they were here for this morning. A sad event, as always. But a reminder, as well. A dark, shadowy sort of reminder that would live with both of them. Places like this, things like this, would never be quite the same.

They gathered in a line, when they reached the opening in the ground. Brennan squeezed Booth's hand firmly. Not because she was afraid, but because they both were. This was something she remembered—from the inside. Today was not for them. Today was for Veronica Wheeler, for her family, and for all the lives touched by her death. Today, they were here because they needed to be. Not because they willing chose to face down these demons, but because it was what had to be done.

It was what they needed.

The pastor spoke, thanking the family for gathering, going through the traditional details. Brennan listened in respectful silence, glancing down every now and then at Nick, who was still at her side, pressed against her leg and slowly looking around at all the adults and at the cemetery itself.

Lyla spoke for a while, long gaps in her speech as she bowed her head and composed herself. When she finished, brushing at her eyes, she nodded to Brennan, who swallowed her nerves and gently pried Nick from her side and urged him over towards Booth before stepping forward.

She cleared her throat, once she stood facing the line of family and friends who had gathered.

"I might be here, myself," she started off, drawing courage from Booth's reassuring eyes and using it to make contact with the gazes of the others gathered before her. "If it were not for the people who ultimately saved both of us. I cannot claim to know exactly what Veronica went through, but I can say that she fought it. She loved… all of you. And she wanted to come home. And I…" she looked to Booth again, closed her eyes for a second, and then went on, "I'd like to say to… Veronica, to the universe, that I wouldn't have made it if not for her. If not for all of you, who worked so hard to find her justice during the investigation.

"I did not know her, of course, but… I think we would have had much to talk about, if we had ever gotten the opportunity. From what Lyla has told me… she was nothing but kind and generous. She was a friend, a daughter, a sister… she was everything I try to be, as best as I can. And that's thanks to all of you, who were there for her then and are there for her now. I know she… would be grateful." She started to step forward but then hesitated, meeting Lyla's moist eyes with her own, and said softly, "Thank you."

They went home afterwards, rather than out to the Diner as Nick would have no doubt preferred. Brennan baked macaroni and cheese, and Booth stayed out of her way, obviously sensing that she wanted the kitchen to herself. She was seeking some therapy in the calm of the recipe, in the joy of the memories it brought in order to overshadow those from earlier.

When she called them to the table, she felt that a warmth had rekindled itself inside of her. Her eyes were brighter, and she smiled at Booth as she sat down across from him. He smiled back, and neither of them brought up the funeral, her speech, or the silent cooking she had carried out on her own.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

They sat on the couch beside one another, in the late hours of the night. He was reading through her latest manuscript, smiling softly at a particular paragraph, and she was surreptitiously watching him over the top of her magazine.

The day before, they had attended a funeral. They had stood down the past and walked out of that place together. She had felt the weight fall, and hers was not quite like the others that had been shed in that place, but it was fitting. It belonged there, in the darkness that came before they stepped out of the cover of the trees and into the bright sunlight of the fall day.

Halloween was looming, with pumpkins decorating the pathway and the stairs in front of their home, and Nick begging to be able to wear his costume every day. It was a joint effort between her and Angela, who was the real creative genius behind all of the children's outfits, but she enjoyed feeling involved and providing what little help she could. That, and seeing the joy on Nick's face. This was a year where it would be more prominent than before. Four was much different than three, after all.

This year, Trace was going as a robot, Kate as a ballerina, and Garrett as an alien. Nick had elected to dress up as pirate, and Angela had insisted that it would be adorable if they could match him up to the lead role in a pirate movie from a while back. Jack Sparrow, she remembered the name was. She had watched the trilogy with Booth, once, and had rather enjoyed it. There was a fourth as well, but he insisted it was not nearly as good and had instead pulled out three fresh movies with a red and blue super hero on the front and a large spider emblem. He had not been impressed when she told him she didn't recognize it.

The two of them were going in outfits of old—Brennan's traditional Wonder Woman to Booth's Clark Kent. It felt right, like they were returning one other aspect of their lives to the way it had been. Bringing themselves around and more fully onto the path that they had belonged on from the start.

At the moment, however, the holiday was still a few weeks in the distance. The middle of the month was still ahead of them, and Angela still had plenty of time to work through the details of the large party she was planning out for all of them. The mansion would be a haunted house, something that Hodgins seemed to be even more excited about than his wife.

She had to admit, the idea sounded like a great deal of fun. It would be their first family holiday. The first real celebration that she would get to go through with Booth and her son together.

She did not count tomorrow. Halloween; that was the holiday of the month. That was the one her son was excited about, and the one Booth was looking forward to as well. Tomorrow was a normal day. Tomorrow had no relevance.

And so she was not watching the clock when it ticked across the line of midnight. Booth nudged her softly, and nodded towards it to draw her attention there. She frowned a moment, having forgotten, and then he kissed her cheek softly and his nose brushed against her ear as he murmured the single line.

Another year. Another rotation. She had made it through; she had survived what she had considered to be the insurmountable. The worst of times was passed, and the light was ahead, showing her what she had been missing. She was living there, now, in the glow of its rays, and pulling everyone and everything she valued forward and into it with her.

She had _changed_, and she had changed the world with herself. She had altered the very fabric of her day to day, she had made it possible to fill in the end of the story with her own happy ending. She had fought for it, had fought _through_ it, and had come out on the other end not quite sure of herself, but yet sure of her survival.

She was alive, with Booth's arm wrapped around her as the mattress upstairs squeaked with the gentle movement of her son turning over in his sleep. She was alive, with the knowledge that she had overcome, with the knowledge that she had defeated the odds. The knowledge that she had won, in the end, even when there were still shadows looming.

They could be battled. She could battle them, with Booth at her side and her team at their backs. There would always be survival, and camaraderie. They were all together, the way they were supposed to be. The idea that it had ever been different seemed so distant, so far in the past that she could almost not comprehend it, and yet it had been less than a year ago.

And also, now, in another age entirely.

She was moving on. Booth was moving on. They were in this together, every step of the way. No matter where they went, no matter what they chose, it was for _them_. For the future they were still building around themselves, and the future that would never be quite finished.

Because the building was half of the fun.

She was content, for the first time in her entire life. And that knowledge was more than enough. That knowledge… and the knowledge that he would never turn away. That he would always be there, that he would always know what she needed, and that she could always count on him.

_"Happy Birthday, Bones." _

_Fin._

**_~BxBxBxBxBxB~_**

**I cannot leave this story without a few closing remarks. First of all, the utmost and sincere thanks go out to my dear friend and beta, Cassie. This story would not be what it is (and in fact might not even exist) had it not been for her enthusiasm and encouragement at each step of the way. She was the one that kept me motivated above all else to get these chapters finished. Thank you, so much... and I hope you will always be around to help me through my stories.**

**Next, of course, come the thanks to all of you. You have shaped this story, too, with your comments and your realizations that brought me understanding of my own and transformed how I viewed the way I was writing. You gave me the courage to keep going, and the joy and pride of success at each step of the way. You have provided me with hope, and confidence, and I will take it forward with me as I go on and continue to write.**

**mendenbar, marple, Labrynth01, SouthunLady, IrigD, Rankor01, LondonLi, etakkate, KatBonesCrazy, LittleThingsMatter, OoopsAmObsessed, bones35, breakfastmakesmeawesome, Tartantrace, beanza3, youlaysolow, carolfd, rayrayrayray, Dewi, TheLittleSarahPee, and many more deserve my deepest gratitude for all that they have had to say over these past ten months.**

**Yes, it has been nearly ten months since I first posted this story. Longer ago that I first started it, but not by much. I hope that you have all enjoyed the ride-and what a roller coaster it was!-that this tale has taken all of us on. I never could have imagined how much it would grow when the idea first planted itself in my head. **

**Now, I'm afraid, is the time to say goodbye. But not without a little bit of hope. There are plenty more ideas where this one came from, and I am not ready to give up on this story's Booth and Brennan, or Nick and Clara and my personal version of teenage Parker. I am digging through a whirlwind of ideas for a sequel, but do not expect it soon, if at all. Right now, it is just a concept. A nice idea that makes parting with this one less painful. You can always find me, though, in my other stories, the ones that I had given leave to previously in order to finish this one in a reasonable time frame. Always All For You will return soon enough, and Hidden after that. **

**It has been grand, friends. Farewell for now, and do not be afraid to leave your closing remarks behind you on that long walk out the door. **


End file.
